UC-NRLF 


B    3    57^    IDD 


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HARPER'S  LIBRARY  OF  SELECT  NOVELS. 


rr.icE 

1.  reUiam.    Hy  Bubvcr $  75 

'.'.  The  Uisowued.     Hy  i^ulwer Tfi" 

;;.  Devereux.    By  Huhrer r>i' 

4.  Tiiul  Clifford.     By  Buhver .'^•0 

T).  Kugeuo  Aram.     By  Buhver CO 

0.  The  Last  Days  of  I'ompeii.     By  Biilwer f>0 

7.  The  Csarina.     By  Mfi.  llofiand f>o 

P.  Rienzi.    By  Bulwtr 7.5 

'.'.  Self-Dcvotion.     By  Miss  Campbell M> 

l>t.  The  Nabob  at  Home f>0 

11.  Kniest  Maltravers.     By  Buhver 50 

12.  Alice ;  or,  The  Mysttrios.     By  Buhver 50 

lo.  The  Iju^t  of  the  Barons.     By  Buhver 1  00 

14.  Forest  Day.s.     By  James 50 

15.  Adam  Brown,  the  Merchant.     By  II.  Smith  ...  50 

!(■>.  IMlgrims  of  the  Rhine.     By  Buhver 25 

17.  The  Home.     By  Misa  Bremer 50 

IS.  The  Lost  Ship.     By  Captain  Ncale 75 

19.  The  False  Heir.    By  James 50 

20.  The  Neighbors.    By  Miss  Bremer .50 

21.  Nina.    By  Miss  Bremer -50 

1i.  The  President's  Daughters.     By  Miss  Bremer. .  25 

Ti.  The  Banker's  Wife.     By  Mrs.  Gore 50 

'.^4.  The  Birthright.     By  Jlrs.  fiore 25 

2.5.  Xew  Sketches  of  Every-day  Life.  By  Miss  Bremer  50 

2G.  Arabella  Stuart.     By  James  50 

'Tl.  The  Grumbler.    By  Miss  Pic'Kerins 50 

2S.  The  Unloved  One.    By  ^h•s.  Holland 5  » 

29.  Jack  of  the  Mill.     By  William  Howilt 25 

30.  The  Heretic.     Mv  Lajetchnikoflf 50 

31.  The  Jew.     By  Spiadltr 75 

32.  Arthur.     By  Sue 75 

33.  Chatsworth.     By  Ward 50 

34.  The  Prairie  Bird.     By  C.  A.  Murray 1  00 

35.  Amy  Herbert.    By  Miss  Sewell 50 

36.  Rose  d'Albret.     By  James 50 

37.  The  Triumphs  of  Time.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 75 

3S.  Tlie  H Family.    By  Miss  Bremer 50 

30.  The  Grandfather.     By  Miss  Pickering 50 

40.  Arrah  Xeil.     By  James 50 

41.  TheJilt 50 

42.  Tales  from  the  German 50 

43.  Arthur  Arundel.     By  H.  Smith 50 

44  Agincourt.    By  James 50 

45.  The  Regent's  Daughter 50 

4'!.  The  Maid  of  Honor 50 

47.  Safia.     By  De  Beauvoir 50 

4S.  Look  to  the  Knd.     By  Mrs.  Ellis 50 

40.  The  Improvisatore.     By  Andersen 50 

50.  The  Gambler's  Wife.     By  Mrs.  Grey 50 

51 .  Veronica.     By  Zschokke 50 

5-2.  Zoe.    Bv  Miss  Jewsbury 50 

r.3.  Wyoming 50 

54.  Dc  Rohan.    By  Sue 50 

5.5.  Self.     By  the  Author  of  "Cecil" 75 

.5!i.  The  Smugcler.     By  James 75 

57.  The  Breach  of  Promise T 50 

53.  I'arsonage  of  Mora.    By  Miss  Bremer 25 

50.  A  Chance  Medlcv.     By  T.  C.  Grattan 50 

60.  The  White  !?laTe 1  00 

(il.  The  Bosom  Friend.    By  Mrs.  Grey 50 

02.  Amaurj'.     By  Dumas 50 

(■i3.  The  Author's  Daughter.     By  Mary  Ilowitt 25 

Ct.  Only  a  Fiddler!  &c.     By  Andersen 50 

0.5.  The  Whiteboy.     By  Mrs.  Hall 50 

Ofi.  The  Foster-Brother.     Edited  by  Leisih  Hunt. . .  50 

07.  Love  and  Mesmerism.     By  H.  Smith. 75 

O-i.  Aacanio.     By  Dumas 75 

00.  Lady  of  Milan.     Edited  by  Mrs.  Thomson 75 

70.  The  Citizen  of  Prague 100 

71.  The  Koyal  Favorite.     By  Jlrs.  Gore 50 

72.  The  Queen  of  Denmark.     By  Mrs.  Gore. 50 

7.1.  The  Elves,  &c.     By  Tieck 50 

74,  75.  The  Step-Mother.     By  James 1  25 

70.  Jessie's  Flirtations 50 

77.  Chevalier  d'llarmental.     ByDnnms 50 

75.  Peers  and  Pai-vcnus.     By  Mrs.  Gore 50 

T9.  The  Commander  of  Malta.     By  Sue 50 

SO.  The  Female  Minister 5  i 

fil.  Emilia  Wyndham.     I'y  Mrs.  Marsh 75 

!^2.  The  Biish-Rangcr.     By  Charles  Rowcroft 51 

^Z.  The  Chronicles  of  Clovernook 25 

M.Genevieve.     By  Lamartine 55 

55.  Livonian  Tales 25 

S'>.  Lettice  Arnold.     Bv  Mrs.  Marsh 25 

S7.  Father  Darcv.    By  Mrs.  Marsh 75 

83.  Leontine.     By  Mrs.  Mabniy 50 


rnioR 

80.  Heidelberg.     By  James $  50 

90.  Lucretia.     By  ISulwer 75 

91.  Beauchamp.    By  James 75 

92.  94.  Fortescue.     By  Kuowles 1  00 

93.  Daniel  Dennison.  &c.     By  Jlrs.  Holland 50 

95.  Cinq-Mars.     By  De  Vigny 50 

90.  Woman's  Trials.     By  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall 75 

97.  The  Castle  of  Elirenstein.     By  James 60 

98.  Marriage.    By  Mi^s  S.  Ferrier 50 

99.  Roland  Cashel.     By  Lever 1  25 

1(10.  Martins  of  Cro'  Martin.     By  Lever 1  S."* 

101.  Russell.     By  James 50 

102.  A  Simple  Story.     By  Mrs.  Inchbald 50 

103.  Norman's  Bridge.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 50 

104.  Alamance 60 

105.  Margaret  Graham.     By  James 25 

100.  The  Wayside  Cross.     By  K.  11.  Milman 2.5 

107.  The  Convict.     By  James 50 

lOS.  Midsummer  Fve.     By  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall 50 

109.  Jane  Eyre.     By  CuiTer  Bell 75 

110.  The  Last  of  the  Fairies.     By  James 25 

111.  Sir  Theodore  Broughton.     By  James 60 

112.  Self-Control.     By  JLary  Brunton 75 

113.  114.  Harold.     By  Buhver 1  00 

115.  Brothers  and  Sisters.    By  Miss  Bremer 50 

110.  Gowrie.     By  James 60 

117.  A  Whim  and  its  Consequences.     By  James 50 

lis.  Three  Sisters  and  Three  Fortunes.     By  G.  H. 

Lewes 7.5 

119.  The  Di-icipline  of  Life 50 

120.  Thirty  Years  Since.     By  James 75 

121.  Mary  Barton.     By  Mrs.  Gaskell 50 

122.  The  Great  Hoggarty  Diamond.     By  Tliackeray  25 

123.  The  Forgery.     By  James 50 

124.  The  Midnight  Sun.     By  Miss  Bremer 25 

12.5,  120.  The  Caxtons.     By  Buhver 75 

127.  Mordaunt  Hall.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 50 

125.  My  Uncle  the  Curate 50 

129.  The  Woodman.     By  James 75 

130.  The  Green  Hand.     A  "■  Short  Yarn" 75 

131.  Sidonia  the  Sorceress.     By  Meinhold 1  00 

132.  Shirley.     By  Currer  Bell 1  00 

133.  The  Ogilvies 50 

134.  Constance  Lyndsay.     By  G.  C.  H 50 

1.%.  Sir  Edward  Graham.     By  Miss  Sinclair 1  00 

130.  Hands  not  Hearts.     By  Miss  Wilkinson .50 

137.  TheWilmingtons.     By  Mrs.  Marsh .50 

138.  Ned  Allen.     By  D.  Hannay 51 

139.  Night  and  Morning.     By  Buhver 75 

140.  The  Muid  of  (Jrleans 75 

141.  Antonina.     By  Wilkic  Collins 50 

142.  Zanoni.     By  Buhver 50 

143.  Reginald  Hastings.     By  Warburton 50 

144.  I'ride  and  Irresolution 50 

145.  The  Old  Oak  Chest.     By  James 50 

140.  Julia  Howard.     By  Jlrs.  Martin  Bell .50 

147.  Adelaide  Lindsay.     Edited  by  Mrs.  Marsh 50 

148.  Pettico.at  Government.     By  Jlrs.  TroUope 50 

149.  The  Luttrells.     By  F.  Williams 50 

150.  Singleton  Fontenoy,  R.N.     By  Hannay 50 

151.  Olive.     By  the  Author  of  "  The  Ogilvies" 50 

152.  Henry  Smeaton.     By  James 50 

153.  Time,  the  Avenger.     By  Jlrs.  JIarsh 50 

154.  The  Commissioner.     Bv  James 1  00 

155.  The  Wife's  Sister.     By" Jlrs.  Hubback 50 

150.  The  Gold  Worshipers 50 

157.  The  Daughter  of  Night.     ByFuUom 50 

15S.  Stuart  of  Dunleath.     By  Hon.  Caroline  Norton.  50 

1.59.  Arthur  Conway.     By  Captain  E.  H.  Milman  . .  50 

100.  The  Fate.     By  James 50 

101.  The  Lady  and  the  Priest.     By  Jlrs.  Jlaberly. . .  50 

102.  Aims  and  Obstacles.     By  James .50 

103.  The  Tutor's  Ward 50 

104.  Florence  S.ackville.     By  Mrs.  Burbury 75 

105.  RavensclifTe.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 60 

100.  JIaurice  Tiernay.     By  Lever 1  01) 

107.  The  Head  of  the  Family.     By  Miss  Mulock 75 

108.  Darien.     By  Warburton 50 

109.  Falkenburg 75 

170.  The  Daltons.     By  Lever 1  50 

171.  Ivar;  or,  The  gkjuts-Boy.     By  Miss  Carlen. . .  50 

172.  Pequinillo.     By  James 50 

173.  Anna  Hammer.     By  Temme 50 

174.  A  Life  of  Vicissitudes.     By  James 50 

17.5.  Henry  Esmond.     By  Thackeray .50 

170,  177.  My  Novel.     By  Buhver 150 

173.  Katie  Stewart 25 


Harper's  Library  of  Select  Novels. 


rmcE 
HARPER'S    Library    of    Select    Novels- 
Continued. 

170.  Castle  Avon.     Uy  Mrs.  Marah $  50 

ISO.  Agnes  Sorel.     V-y  James -''0 

Ibl.  Agatha's  Husband.     By  the  Author  of  "  Olivu"  r>0 

IS'2.  Villetto.     J5y  Currer  liell T.'> 

153.  Lover's  Stratagem.     Uy  Miss  Carlen 'M 

154.  Clouded  llappiueas.     liy  Countess  U'Orsay 'M 

1 55.  Charles  Aucheater.    A  Memorial "A 

ISO.  Lady  Lee's  Widowhood "'''i 

1S7.  Dodd  Family  Abroad.     Uy  Lever 1  "-^i 

ISS.  Sir  Jasper  Carew.     Uy  Lever '.'> 

1S9.  Quiet  Heart "'' 

190.  Aubrey.     By  Mrs.  Mar.^h 'J') 

191.  Ticonderoga.     By  James fj" 

192.  Hard  Time.-'.     By  Dickens f><' 

193.  The  Young  Husbaud.     By  Mrs.  Grey f><) 

194.  The  Mother's  liecompense.     By  Grace  Aguilur.  T.*! 

195.  AvilUon,  &c.     By  Miss  Mulock 1  -5 

19G.  North  and  .^outh.     By  Mrs.  Gaskell 50 

197.  Country  Neighborhood.     By  Miss  Dupuy 5li 

19S.  Constance  Herbert.     By  Miss  Jewsbury 50 

199.  The  Heiress  of  Haugliton.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 50 

'JOO.  The  Old  Domiuion.     By  James 50 

201.  John  Halifax.    By  the  Author  of  "Olive,"  itc.  75 

203.  Evelyn  Maraton.    By  Mrs.  Marsh 50 

203.  I'ortunes  of  Glencore.     By  Lever 5" 

204.  Leonora  d'Orco.    By  Janiea 50 

Q05.  Nothing  New.     By  Miss  Mulock 50 

2iH5.  The  Kose  of  Ashurst.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 50 

207.  The  Athelings.     By  Mrs.  Oliphaut ^'> 

205.  Scenes  of  Clerical  Life T .^ 

•J09.  My  Lady  Ludlow.     By  Mrs.  Gaskell 2.5 

210,  211.  Gerald  I'itzgerald.     By  Lever 50 

•212.  A  Life  for  a  Life.     By  Miss  Mulock 50 

213.  Sword  and  Gown.    By  Geo.  Lawrence 25 

214.  Misrepresentation.     By  Anna  H.  Drury 1  00 

215.  The  Mill  on  the  Floss.     By  George  Eliot 75 

2 IG.  One  of  Them.    By  Lever 75 

217.  A  Day's  liidc.     By  Lever 60 

21S.  Notice  to  Quit.    By  Wills 50 

219.  A  Strange  Story 1  «« 

220.  Brown,  Jones,  and  Robinson.     By  TroUope 5U 

221.  Abel  Drake's  Wife.     By  John  Saunders 75 

222.  Olive  Blake's  Good  Work.     By  J.C.  Jeaflfresou.  75 

223.  The  Professor's  Lady 25 

2'24.  Mistress  and  Maid.     By  Miss  Mulock 50 

225.  Aurora  Floyd.     By  M.  E.  Braddon 75 

226.  Barrington.    By  Lever '5 

227.  Sylvia's  Lovers.     By  Mrs.  Gaskell 75 

223.  A  Fir^t  Friendship 50 

229.  A  Dark  Night's  Work.     By  Mre.  Gaskell 50 

•230.  Countess  Gisella.     By  E.  Marlitt 25 

23L  St.  Olave's T5 

23'3.  A  Point  of  Honor 50 

233.  Live  it  Down.     Hy  Jeaffreson 1  00 

234.  M-irtin  Pole.    By  Saunders 50 

235.  Stary  Lyndsay.     By  Lady  Ponsonby 50 

233.  Eleanor's  Victory.     By  M.  E.  Braddon 75 

237.  Bachel  Hay.     By  Trollope 5i) 

233.  John  M.irchniont's  legacy.     By  M.  E.  Braddon  75 

239.  Annis  Warleigh's  Fortunes.     By  Holme  Lee. . .  75 

240.  The  Wife's  Evidence.    By  Wills 50 

241.  Barbara's  History.    By  Amelia  B.  Edwards 75 

243.  Cousin  Phillis 25 

243.  What  will  he  do  with  It  ?     By  Bulwer 1  50 

244.  The  Ladder  of  Life.    By  Amelia  B.  Edwards. . .  50 

245.  Denis  Dival.     By  Thackeray .50 

24G.  Maurice  Dering.    By  Geo.  Lawrence 50 

247.  Mavgarat  Denzil's  History 75 

24S.  Quite  Alone.    By  George  Augustus  Sala 75 

249.  Mattie:  a  Stray 75 

2.50.  Jly  P.rotlicr'a  Wife.     By  Amelia  B.  Edwards. . .  50 

251 .  r ncic  Siln.5.     By  J.  S.  Le  Fanu 75 

252.  Lovel  the  Widower.     By  Thackeray 25 

2.53.  Miss  Miickenzie.     By  Anthony  Trollope 50 

2.''>4.  On  Guard.     By  Annie  Thomas .50 

2.55.  Theo  Leigh.     i3y  Annie  Thomas 50 

250.  Denis  Doane.    By  Annie  Tliomaa 50 

2.57.  Belial 5f 

253.  C'an-y's  Confession 75 

2.59.  Miss  Carew.     By  Amelia  B.  Edwards 50 

2G0.  Hand  and  Glove.     By  Amelia  B.  Edwards 50 

•2CL  Guy  Devcrell.     By  J.  S.  Le  Fanu 50 

2G2.  Haifa  Million  of  Money.    By  Amelia  B.  ICdwards  75 

263.  The  Belton  Estate.     By  Anthony  TroUopf 50 

2G4.  Agnes.     By  Mrs.  Ollphant 75 

2(>.5.  W'alter  Goring.     By  Annie  Thomas 75 

2Grt.  Maxwell  Drewitt.   'By  Mrs.  J.  H.  liiddell 75 

2G7.  The  Toilers  of  the  Sea.     Bv  Victor  Hugo 75 

2CS.MiasMarjorib.ank3.     By  Mrs.  OlipUant 50 


PEICE    ' 

HARPER'S  Library  of  Select  Novels- 
Continued. 

2C9.  True  History  of  a  Little  Kagamuffia.    By  James 

Greenwood $  60 

270.  Gilbert  liugge.     By  the  Author  of  "A  First 

Friendship" 1  00 

271.  Sans  MercL     By  Geo.  Lawrence BO 

•27'2.  Phemie  Keller.     By  Mrs.  J.  H.  Kiddell 50 

27.3.  Land  at  Last.     By  Edmund  Yates fy) 

274.  Felix  Holt,  the  Kadical.     By  George  liliot 75 

275.  Bound  to  the  Wlieel.     By  John  Saunders 75 

2TG.  All  in  the  Dark.     By  J.  S.  Le  Fanu 50 

277.  Kissing  the  liod.     By  Edmund  Yates 75 

2T-:.  The  l;ace  for  Wealth.     By  Mrs.  J.  H.  liiddell. .  75 

279.  Lizzie  Lorton  of  Greyrigg.     By  Mrs.  Linton. . .  75 

250.  Tlie  Beauclercs,  Father  and  Son.     By  C.  Clarke  50 

251.  Sir  Brook  Fossbrooke.     By  Charles  Lever 50 

252.  Madouna  Mary.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 50 

2^3.  Cradock  Nowell.     By  I{.  D.  Blackmore 75 

254.  Bernthal.     From  the  German  of  L.  Miihlbach.  50 

235.  liachel's  Secret 75 

2SG    The  Claverings.     By  Anthony  Tiol lope 50 

2S7.  The  Village  on  the  ClitT.     By  Miss  Tliackeray.  25 

255.  I'lnved  (Jut.     By  Aimie  Thomas 75 

289.  Black  Sheep.     By  Edmund  Yates 50 

290.  Sowing  the  Wind.     By  E.  Lynn  Linton 50 

291.  Nora  and  Archibald  Lee 50 

29"2.  Raymond's  Heroine 50 

293.  Mr.  Wynyard's  AVard.     By  Holme  Lee 50 

294.  Alec  Forbes.     By  George  Macdonald 75 

295.  No  Man's  Friend.    By  F.  W.  Robin?on 75 

296.  Called  to  Account.     By  Annie  Thomas 50 

297.  Caste 50 

29S.  The  Curate's  Discipline.    By  Mrs.  Eiloart 50 

299.  Ciice.     By  Babington  White 50 

300.  The  Tenants  of  Maloiy.     By  J.  S.  Le  Fanu. . .  50 

301.  Carlyon'a  Y'ear.    By  James  Payn 25 

302.  The  Waterdale  Neiglibora .50 

303.  Mabel's  Progress .50 

304.  Guild  Court.     By  Geo.  Mac  Donald 5J 

305.  The  Brothers'  Bet.     By  Miss  Carlen '.5 

306.  Playing  for  High  Stakes.     By  Annie  Thorn 

as.     Blustrated C5 

307.  Margaret's  Engagement 50 

30S.  One  of  the  Family.     By  James  Payn 25 

309.  Five  Hundred  Pounds  Reward.    By  a  Bai  rister.  50 

310.  Brownlows.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 33 

311.  Charlotte's  Inheritance.     Sequel  to  "Birds  of 

Prey."     By  Mi^s  Braddon 50 

812.  Jeanie'3   Quiet  Life.     By  the  Author  of  "St. 

Olave's" 50 

313.  Poor  Humanity.    By  F.  W.  Robinson 50 

314.  Brakespeare.     Bv  Geo.  Lawrence 50 

315.  A  Lost  Name.     By  J.  S.  I.e  Fanu '. 50 

316.  Love  or  Marriage  ?    By  W.  Black 50 

317.  Dead-Sea  Fruit.  By  Miss  Braddon.  lUustrated.  50 
313.  The  Dower  House.     By  Annie  Thomas 50 

319.  The  Bramleighs  of  Bishop's  Folly.     By  Lever.  St) 

320.  Mildred.    By  Georgiana  M.  Craik 50 

321.  Nature's  Nobleman.     By  the  Author  of  "Ra- 

chel's  Secret" 50 

322.  Kathleen.      By   the   Author    of  "  Raj-mond'a 

Heroine" 50 

323.  That  Bov  of  Norcott's.     Bv  Charles  Lever 25 

324.  In  Silk  Attire.     By  W.  Black 50 

32.5.  Hetty.     By  Henry  King-ley 25 

326.  False  Colois.     By  Annie  Thomas 50 

327.  Meta's  Faith.    By  the  Author  of  "St.  Olave's."'  ."^-O 
323.  Found  Dead.     By  James  Payn 53 

329.  Wrecked  in  Port.     By  Edmund  Y'atea .Nl 

330.  The  Minister's  Wife.     By  Mrs.  Olipii.int 75 

331.  A  Beggar  on  Horseback.     By  James  Payn 35 

332.  Kitty.     By  M.  Betham  Edwards tO 

3.33.  Only  Her.«elf.     Bv  Annie  Thomas 50 

3.34.  Hirell.     By  John'Saunders 50 

33.5.  Under  Foot.     By  Alton  Clyde 50 

330.  So  Runs  the  AVoi  Id  Away.   By  Mrs.  A.  C.  Steele.  60 

337.  Baffled.     By  Julia  Goddard 75 

333.  Beneath  the  Wheels 50 

3.39.  Stern  Necessity.     By  F.  W.  Robinson 50 

340.  Gwendoline's  Harvest.     By  James  Payn 25 

.341.  Kilmeny.    By  William  Black 50 

3 12.  John :  A  Love  Storv    Uv  Mrs.  Oliphant 50 

.343.  True  to  Herself.     i5y  F.  AV.  Robinson 50 

344.  Veronica.  By  the  Author  of  "Mabel'sPiogress"  60 

345.  A  Dangerous  Guest.     By  the  Author  of  "Gil- 

bert i;u!:ge" 50 

346.  Estelle  Russell 75 

347.  The  Heir  Expectant.   By  tlie  Author  of  "  Ray- 

mond's Heroine" 60 

34S.  Which  is  the  Heroine? 50 


Miscellaneous  Popular  jVozrls. 


3* 


PBICB 

HARPER'S  Library  of  Select  Xovcls— 

Continued. 

345.  The  Viviiiii  Komance.     Hy  Mortimer  Collins.  .$  fW 

.S50.  In  Duty  lioiind.     I  Uustriited DU 

351.  The  Warden  and  liiirchester  Tower:?,     liy  A. 

TroUope '•> 

353.  From  Thistles— Grapes ?    Hy  Mrs.  Lilian 50 

363.  A  Siren.     By  T.  A.  Trollopo DO 

35i.  Sir  Hurry  Hotspur  of  Humblethwuite.      liy 

Anthony  Trollopo.     Hlustrated 50 

SHR.  Earl's  Dene.     By  1{.  E.  Frnucillou f>0 

SJ^O.  Dai.-y  Nichol.     By  I.ndy  Hiirdy .')0 

3.')T.  Bred  in  the  Bone.     By  James  Payu fx) 

35S.  I'cuton's  Qiie.-t.    By  Mis.s  Braddon.    IlUistnUed.  00 
35'J.  Monarch  of  .Minciiig-Laue.    By  W.  Bhick.     Il- 
lustrated   fiO 

360.  A  Life's  Assize.     I5y  Mrs.  J.  H.  liiddell 50 

301.  Anteros.  By  the  Authorof  "Guy  Livinsstnno."  .Vi 

36'2.  Her  Lord  and  Master.     By  Mrs.  KossCliuich. .  f)0 

303.  Won— Not  Wooed.     By  James  I'avn 50 

304.  For  Lack  of  Gold.     By  Charles  Gibbon 50 

305.  Anne  Furne.«s 75 

300.  A  Daughter  of  lleth.     By  W.  Black 50 

SOT.  Durutou  Abbey.     By  T.  A.  Trollopo 50 

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J      4*^    /       /  / 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW, 


Srijc  Stori)  of  an  ©1&  i^ouse. 


1/  Vxn,:  I. vv^^x.     6^ iiiXJ 


"There  is  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough-hev7  them  as  we  will." 


NEW    YORK: 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN    SQUARE. 
1S74. 


r 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1873,  ^y 

Harper    &    Brothers, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


?Il£biratelr 


TO 


THE  GENERAL  WHO  TOOK  THE  CITY, 

President  Grant. 


ivi20S380 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I.                   TAGE 
The  Family  Secret 11 

CHAPTER  II. 
Rachel 13 

CHAPTER  III. 
Joseph's  Flight IG 

CHAPTER  IV. 
The  Fairy  Isles 19 

CHAPTER  V. 
At  the  Pool 21 

CHAPTER  VI. 
RcNxiXG  THE  Blockade 25 

CHAPTER  VII. 
The  Old  House 28 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
Discovery 32 

CHAPTER  IX. 
Peggy's  Fortune 34 

CHAPTER  X. 
Berxardo 37 

CHAPTER  XI. 

IIow  THE  City  was  taken 39 

CHAPTER  XII. 
In  the  Cave 42 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
D.VM-N 41 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Joseph's  Pocket-book 4G 


CHAPTER  XV.          .       PAGE 
Nelson  Tiiorne 50 

CHM'TER  XVI. 
St.  Chrysostom 55 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
An  Unlucky  Family 58 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
The  Mother's  Story C5 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
The  Picture G9 

CHAPTER  XX. 
Captain  Lacer 71 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

A  Stranger  "vvithin  thy  Gates 74 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
Lovers 75 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
An  Interruption 77 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
A  Poor  Relation SO 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
Thistles 83 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
Peril 85 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
Afteravard 87 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
The  Memder  for  Millville 89 


10 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXIX.  PAGE 

Ethel 'M 

CIIAPTEIl  XXX. 

U.VDER   MOH   KULK 97 

CIIArTER  XXXI. 
Joii.v  Kaini;s 101 


CIIAPTEIl  XXXII. 
Gre.\t  Neavs 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
Tilt;  Hermit 


103 


108 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
Found 110 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 
Experience  Tiiorne 


TAGE 

.   115 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
The  Countess  Gu.vradini 118 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 
Too  Late 124 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 
CoxrESSiON 125 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 
A  New  Year 127 

CHAPTER  XL. 
A  Ship  comes  in 129 


JOSEPH  THE  JE 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE   FAMILY  SECRET. 


"OAMUEL  must  go,"  said  Uncle  Abraliam 

O  Host,  finishing  his  portion  of  rice-grod, 
with  a  relish  unimpaired  by  the  fact  that  his 
sister  Martha  had  carefully  prepared  the  favor- 
ite dish  for  his  supper  these  thirty  years.  For 
the  advent  of  Abraham  Rost  was  hailed  as  a 
great  event  in  the  household. 

"  But  he  leaves  Kachel,  in  that  case,"  re- 
turned the  father,  thoughtfully. 

A  grave,  wrinkled,  care-worn  man  was  the 
father,  stooping  in  gait,  yet  with  a  certain  dig- 
nity of  manner.  A  safe  man,  the  merchants 
knew,  and  when  he  moved  one  of  his  pieces  in 
the  great  game  of  life,  with  a  thin,  firm  hand, 
it  was  after  due  deliberation,  and  the  move 
was  never  withdrawn. 

"Tut!  tut!  "scoffed  Abraham.  "I  tell  thee, 
I  left  wife  and  little  ones,  early  and  late,  for 
bread.  I  crossed  the  steppes  in  winter ;  I  nev- 
er failed  yet  to  be  at  Nijni-Novgorod  every 
foir ;  and  I  traveled  in  my  sledge  from  house 
to  house  in  the  Baltic  provinces,  when  our  need 
was  bitter,  after  the  persecution  of  our  chosen 
race." 

"I  know,"  assented  the  fiither,  half  abscntl}'. 

"  Samuel  is  a  man — not  like  the  other  cliick- 
en-hearted  youngsters,"  observed  Abraliam. 
Out  of  the  gloom  peered  a  fixce.  It  was  young 
and  soft  in  outline,  but  it  was  terribly'  eager 
and  wrathful  in  expression.  Uncle  Abraham 
might  well  look  to  himself  with  such  a  watcher. 

The  household  had  retired  for  the  night. 
Twelve  o'clock  was  the  hour  chosen  by  Abra- 
ham Host  to  discuss  important  matters  with  his 
brother,  for  ho  was  a  very  owl  for  wakefulness. 


"The  time  has  come,  and  we  have. waited 
long,"  pursued  the  older  man,  in  a  half  musing 
strain.  "I  have  saved  thaler  by  thaler;  my 
fortune  has  been  built  up  of  single  little  coins, 
and  the  diamonds  that  have  ceased  to  delight 
our  eyes  by  their  flashing  splendor  have  brought 
a  safer  return  in  solid  gold — eli,  brotlier  ?  Hist ! 
what  was  that  ?" 

"  I  heai"d  no  sound,"  said  the  father,  calmly. 
Uncle  Abraham  rose  from  his  seat  in  the  ra- 
diance of  the  swinging  silver  lamp,  suspended 
by  chains  from  tlie  ceiling,  and  groped  about 
the  room.  On  one  side  of  the  low,  dark  cham- 
ber was  a  wooden  stairway,  with  heavily -carved 
balustrade,  which  led  to  a  small  door  high  in 
the  wall.  The  old  man,  still  suspicious  that 
his  keen  ear  had  not  deceived  him  when  he 
fancied  he  heard  a  stealthy,  suppressed  sound, 
ascended  the  steps  and  tried  the  door. 

It  was  fastened  on  the  other  side. 

Re-assured,  he  resumed  his  arm-chair,  and 
had  no  sooner  done  so  than  the  little  door  flew 
noiselessly  open,  and  the  eager  young  face  ap- 
peared among  the  shadows  of  the  balcony  again. 

Abraham  laid  on  the  table  two  morocco  belts 
lined  with  money,  a  small  pouch  of  coins,  and 
a  red  Circassian  bag,  richly  embroidered,  from 
wliich  he  drew  a  yellow  paper,  crumpled  and 
faded.     He  read  aloud  : 

"  Never  cease  to  search  for  the  treasure  I 
lost,  my  sons.  The  workmanship  was  so  per- 
fect that  it  may  have  possibly  been  preserved 
in  its  original  form,  if  it  be  not  too  much  taste 
to  expect   of  a   blood-thirsty  robber.     I  had 


i: 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW, 


been  in  tlic  far  East,  seeking  rare  gems  for 
our  house,  when  this  neciilace  was  sent  unex- 
pectedly to  reward  my  toil.  How  I  loved  it! 
How  rapturously  I  gloated  over  it  in  secret, 
imtil,  in  the  long  days  at  sea,  I  lost  myself  in 
reveries  over  the  future  disposition  to  be  made 
of  my  treasure.  Sometimes  I  climbed  the  rig- 
ging to  be  quite  alone,  and  let  the  sunshine 
play  over  the  stones,  which  shot  forth  rays  of 
splendor,  or  I  leaned  over  the  bulwark  in  the 
calm  moonlight,  holding  it  in  my  hand,  with 
the  waves  breaking  in  long  furrows  of  chan- 
ging lights  against  the  prow,  pale  rose  and  pure 
green  scintillations,  comparing  the  jewels  of 
the  sea  below  with  those  of  the  earth  in  my 
grasp.  I  had  heard  that  the  Roman  Catholics 
of  Havana,  on  the  island  of  Cuba,  would  give 
great  sums  for  such  jewels  to  adorn  the  Virgins 
of  their  cathedrals.  If  these  failed  to  give  me 
my  price,  I  would  then  return  home,  sure  of  a 
market  among  the  princes  of  Europe.  Eager- 
ly I  looked  for  the  chain  of  islands,  lying  in 
tropical  beauty,  surrounded  by  the  sea. 

"  Before  we  reached  them,  an  accursed  }n- 
rate  swept  down  upon  us,  with  guns  flashing 
in  every  port-hole,  boarded  us,  and  rifled  us  of 
our  possessions.  I  might  well  utter  the  prayer 
of  David  the  King,  '  Lord,  deliver  me  from  mine 
enemies.'  I  shall  see  that  dog  of  a  Christian, 
as  he  stood  over  me,  with  my  dying  eyes.  The 
hatred  bred  of  wrong  is  unquenchable.  He  was 
an  English  buccaneer,  such  as  then  infested  the 
region.  The  setting  sun,  shining  dully  through 
the  smoke,  which  hung  like  a  pall  over  us,  illu- 
mined his  form  with  a  blood-red  glow  ;  his  face 
was  dark  with  evil  passions,  and  his  cold,  cruel 
gray  eye  chilled  the  beholder  with  apprehen- 
sion. Any  deed  possible  for  man  to  do  might 
readily  be  ascribed  to  him,  and  still  the  cruel 
gray  eye  "would  search  for  more.  Cowering  on 
the  deck,  in  momentary  expectation  of  death, 
I  yet  had  time  to  reflect  that  if  he  were  not  a 
pirate,  he  would  be  something  else.  What  ? 
I  searched  my  bewildered  brain,  and  even  in 
such  a  tumult  the  answer  was  unhesitating — 
'A  madman.' 

"  He  spumed  me  with  his  foot. 

"'Jews  are  made  of  riches ;  search  him,' 
he  commanded. 

"Then  my  treasure  was  torn  from  me. 
The  captain  was  a  silent  spectator.  The 
two  commanders  were  both  young  men ;  they 
stood  opposite,  and  measured  each  other  from 
head  to  foot.  The  captain's  look  expressed 
plainly  wonder,  pity,  and  contempt  for  the 
conqueror,  which  stung  more  deeply  than  the 
wildest  ravings  of  despair.     Dissimulation  is 


safest  under  such  circumstances.  I  dared  not 
raise  my  eyes  from  the  deck,  for  fear  the  pi- 
rate should  read  the  helpless  rage  and  defiance 
seething  within  me. 

'"As  we  are  of  the  same  race,  I  will  let  you 
go,'  said  the  pirate,  carelessly. 

"'I  am  ashamed  of  my  race,'  rciilicd  the 
captain,  firm  and  low. 

"A  sudden  pallor  crept  over  the  other's 
dark  face — or  was  it  only  the  di])ping  of  the 
sun  beneath  the  wave?  There  was  a  sharp 
report,  a  flash,  and  the  captain  fell.  But  it 
was  one  of  the  buccaneering  crew  that  did 
the  deed.  My  curses  have  followed  the  pi- 
rate night  and  day.  Find  him  or  his  de- 
scendants, oh  my  children,  and  recover  the  in- 
heritance of  which  you  have  been  robbed.  I 
discovered  his  name — Frederick  William  Goffc. 

"(Signed)  Solomon  KosT." 

Uncle  Abraham  refolded  and  replaced  the 
paper  with  glowing  eyes.  Even  the  father's 
pale  face  flushed  with  a  kindling  enthusiasm. 

"Ah!  had  Providence  decreed,  we  should 
have  found  the'  necklace  long  ere  this ;  had 
we  not  been  hampered  by  troubles,  and  Ma- 
nasseh's  death  out  yonder.  The  young  one 
must  undertake  it.  I  tell  thee,  Samuel  is  the 
man.  "We  will  unfold  our  plans  when  he  re- 
turns, but  the  children  must  know  nothing  of 
the  secret ;  it  might  spread,  through  such  idle 
babblers,  to  avaricious  brethren.  The  Went- 
zels  over  the  way  would  fly  in  pursuit.  The 
Lord  saw  fit  to  afflict  me  with  girls :  had  He 
granted  me  a  son  for  mine  old  age,  I  would 
have  trained  him  to  fulfill  his  grandfather's 
command."  The  sorrow  of  Abraham  Rost's 
life  was  that  he  had  no  sons. 

This  great  city  of  the  far  North,  standing  in 
the  icy  stillness  of  lingering  Arctic  winter,  and 
wrapped  in  a  soft  snow  mantle,  had  no  more 
curious  picture  of  home  life  to  reveal,  that 
night,  than  the  common  living-room  of  Solo- 
mon Rost,  the  diamond  broker's  home,  pre- 
sented. The  single  lofty  window,  with  double 
sashes  excluding  the  bitter'cold,  was  concealed 
by  a  curtain  of  heavy  red  cloth  ;  the  furniture 
was  plain,  with  an  instinct  to  avoid  display, 
taught  by  cruel  oppression.  A  solitary  star  of 
liglu — the  silver  lamp — gleamed  in  the  centre 
of  the  room,  framing  the  two  gray  heads  bow- 
ed together  in  a  mellow  radiance.  Shrouded 
in  a  twilight  gloom,  the  great  porcelain  stove 
loomed  up  in  one  corner,  and  opposite  the 
wooden  stairway  wound  upward  into  obscuri- 
ty, each  step  farther  from  the  light,  even  as 
the  young  face  was  destined  to  recede. 


JOSEril  THE  JEW. 


13 


Intense  attention  marked  the  attitude  of  the 
listener ;  an  increasing  confidence  on  the  ])art 
of  the  brotliers,  as  they  warmed  over  a  theme, 
a  mystery  wiiich  had  served  as  the  romance 
of  their  lives.  "So!  my  grandfatlier  left  this 
secret,  and  my  uncle  ^lanasseh  died  of  yellow 


fever  in  the  West  Indies,  searching  for  a  clue," 
said  the  young  man,  drawing  a  deep  breath, 
and  raising  liimsclf  erect  when  tlie  others  Iiad 
finally  separated  for  tlie  night. 

lie  passed  swiftly  through  tlie  little  door, 
and  came  face  to  face  with  a  woman. 


CHAPTER  IL 


RACHEL. 


WHAT  a 
ed,  witli 


arc  you  doing  here  ?"  the  girl  ask- 
ith  both  authority  and  suspicion. 

"  And  you  ?"  questioned  the  young  man,  with 
a  perceptible  sneer  curling  his  haughty  lip — a 
sneer  that  gradually  changed  to  an  expression 
of  incredulous  amazement  as  he  gazed  at  her. 

The  girl's  wrapping,  a  gorgeous  cloak  of 
Eastern  fabric,  with  silk  wrouglit  upon  velvet 
to  resemble  jewels,  and  a  h^avy  border  of  gold 
fringe,  slipped  aside,  revealing  her  dress.  She 
bit  her  lip  with  vexation.  Tlie  dropping  of  the 
mantle  was  no  intentional  feminine  artifice  ;  it 
did  not  matter  what  Joseph  thought  of  her. 

A  delicate  lily  of  snowy  purity,  npspringing 
in  the  forest's  deepest  recess,  could  not  have 
afforded  a  more  vivid  contrast  than  did  the 
girl  figure  to  the  dark  corridor.  She  was  en- 
veloped in  gauzy  raiment,  one  frost-work  of 
costly  lace.  Lustrous  pearls  were  wound  in 
chains  about  the  slender  throat,  and  depended 
on  either  side  of  the  oval  face,  while  a  coronet 
of  massive  braided  hair  crowned  her  head,  and 
eyes  of  wonderful  depth  and  brilliancy  proudly 
confronted  the  young  man. 

"  Samuel's  bride,"  muttered  Joseph,  witli 
whitening  lips. 

"  Yes,  Samuel's  bride,"  said  Kachel,  calmly. 
"  I  have  put  on  my  dress,  like  any  other  girl, 
and  am  going  to  the  great  chamber  to  see  my- 
self in  the  mirrors.  I  have  stolen  Aunt  Mar- 
tha's keys  for  the  purpose." 

And  then,  being  a  girl  conscious  of  her  own 
beauty,  she  bent  her  head  gracefully,  express- 
ing the  "am  I  not  worth  looking  at?"  which 
she  scorned  to  speak.  Joseph's  features  grew 
dark  with  bitter  hatred  and  despair. 

"  Every  thing  for  Samuel !  Life,  love,  hon- 
or, riches  !     Why  were  the  rest  of  us  born  ?" 

Eachel  recoiled,  shocked  and  startled. 

"  He  is  your  brother ;  surely  you  will  do  iiim 
no  harm" — anxiouslv. 


"Xo:  I  am  not  a  Cain,"  said  Joseph,  still 
looking  at  her  with  the  unwilling  fascination 
of  a  man  who  both  loved  and  hated  her.  "Well, 
are  you  going  to  tell  of  me  ?  I  have  been  listen- 
ing to  the  father's  conversation." 

"You  are  safe  with  me,"  returned  Eachel, 
haughtily,  and  swept  away  to  insert  the  pon- 
derous key  into  the  door  of  the  sacred  great 
chamber. 

This  state  apartment  had  once  been  fitted  for 
the  reception  of  a  prince  of  the  Hebrew  race, 
a  great  banker  and  statesman,  who  was  the 
confidential  friend  of  emperors,  and  who  wore 
more  noble  orders  on  his  breast  than  royalty 
itself.  Rachel  stood  on  the  threshold  of  the 
lofty  room,  and  held  her  lamp  above  her  head. 
Venetian  mirrors,  framed  in  silver,  lined  the 
walls;  the  floor  was  polished  wood,  in  mosaic 
patterns,  with  a  Persian  carpet  laid  in  the  cen- 
tre ;  amber  satin  curtains  shrouded  the  bed 
and  windows ;  the  chairs  and  sofas  Avere  solid 
ebony  and  amber  satin,  relieved  by  graceful  fes- 
toons of  lace.  A  chandelier  of  pure  cut  crys- 
tal held  wax-tapers,  half  consumed.  Indian 
vases  wafted  still  a  lingering  aromatic  perfume. 

There  were  pictures  in  that  dim  light.  An- 
drea del  Sarto  was  reproduced  in  Ciesar  receiv- 
ing tribute  of  birds  and  wild  animals,  instead 
of  the  Pieta.  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  by  a  copy  of 
the  Leda,  instead  of  the  Last  Supper.  Raf- 
fiielo,  even,  by  his  heathen  philosophies,  rath- 
er than  the  tender  INLidonna  and  Child.  No- 
where was  Christ  to  be  seen. 

At  the  end  of  the  room  a  satin  curtain  was 
looped  back,  forming  the  portal  to  an  alcove. 
The  velvet  divan,  the  wine  jar,  the  pipe  with 
long  stem  and  jeweled  mouth-piece,  the  leather 
pouch  of  Latakia  denoted  its  purpose.  Beside 
the  divan  a  tiny  table  of  ebony  supported,  on  a 
bronze  salver,  a  pitcher  shaped  like  a  bird,  ex- 
quisitely tinted  purple  and  amber,  with  ribbed 


14 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


glass  handle,  nn  J  two  shallow  cups  with  iridized 
liuted  rims,  and  richly  incrusted  sides.  A  sec- 
ond alcove  beyond  was  a  marble  batli. 

The  silence  and  desertion  of  the  great  cham- 
l)er  was  dispelled  by  a  charming,  Heeting  vision. 
In  every  mirror  grew  a  luminous  form  out  of 
the  mist  of  bridal  veil.  Rachel,  beholding  her 
image,  yielded  to  the  irresistible  im])ulse  of 
self-admiration,  and,  jilacing  her  lamp  on  a  ta- 
ble, posed  in  beautiful  attitudes,  her  draperies 
now  flung  back,  with  arms  wreathed  above  her 
iiead,  and  again  wrapjiing  herself  close  in  ghost- 
ly white  folds. 

She  was  interrupted  in  these  girlish  freaks 
by  the  sudden  appearance  of  Aunt  Martlia  in 
night-cap  and  dressing-gown,  who  speedily  re- 
locked  the  great  chamber,  and  bore  away  the 
culprit.  She  was  amazed  at  Rachel's  audaci- 
ty. Besides,  the  wedding-dress  worn  before 
the  time  was,  in  her  estimation,  an  ill  omen. 

Aunt  Martha  was  watchful  guardian  through 
all  the  silent  hours  of  night.  Not  a  mouse 
gnawed  behind  the  wainscot  but  she  heard  it, 
and  was  on  the  alert  for  robbers.  Tiie  Rost 
family  had  been  diamond  brokers  for  genera- 
tions, the  sons  being  instructed  in  the  business 
at  an  early  age,  and  succeeding  the  fathers 
regularly.  The  father  was  the  actual  head 
of  the  house ;  but  Uncle  Abraham,  whose  rest- 
less nature  tended  to  greater  activity,  trav- 
ersed Europe  in  search  of  fine  stones.  Every 
instinct  of  their  lives  prevented  them  from 
adopting  the  mode  of  living  of  many  fomilics 
in  their  midst,  occupying  a  floor  in  some  large 
building.  Tlie  Rosts  must  live  entirely  to 
themselves,  not  because  their  ways  were  evil, 
but  secretive.  The  house  was  plain  and  old  ; 
the  ofiice  in  one  portion,  and  the  family  hav- 
ing possession  of  the  rest. 

Every  night  a  strong  box  was  brought  to 
the  father's  bed-chamber,  so  heavy  that  three 
clerks  lifted  it,  and  because  of  the  box  Aunt 
Martha  listened  for  robbers.  Slie  importuned 
the  father  to  have  an  iron  door  with  filagree 
openings  set  to  his  chamber,  secured  by  a  bar; 
she  made  him  burn  a  lamp,  and  at  any  hour  of 
the  night  she  might  have  been  seen  gliding  to 
the  iron  door,  to  see  if  the  father  slept  and  the 
box  was  safe. 

Not  for  worlds  would  the  Rosts  have  had  it 
known  in  the  city  that  their  house  boasted  an 
apartment  like  the  great  chamber.  To  be 
sure,  the  days  of  heavy  tribulation  were  past ; 
yet  the  safest  course  "with  the  descendants  of 
rulers  who  had  extorted  the  uttermost  far- 
thing from  Jews,  was  to  avoid  a  display  of 
wealth. 


"Wc  do  our  best  in  our  humble  way," 
Aunt  Martha  would  remark,  with  an  hypoc- 
risy which  fear  had  taught  her.  Had  one  of 
her  nciglibors,  Christian  or  Israelite,  inquired 
what  the  great  chamber  contained,  she  would 
have  unhesitatingly  replied,  "Rubbish!  It 
was  a  lumber-room." 

In  the  mean  while  Joseph  had  gone  to  his 
own  room,  and  stood  beside  the  couch  of  the 
other  occupant.  A  faint  white  gleam  stole  in 
the  casement  from  the  snow -covered  street 
and  roofs,  tinging  with  an  unearthly  ])allor 
the  sleeper's  face,  which  was  as  spiritually 
sweet  as  the  face  bent  over  it  was  morose. 
These  two  were  twin  brothers,  and  the  mother 
had  died  in  giving  them  birth. 

The  sleeping  Benjamin  was  as  faultless  as 
the  perfection  of  delicately  chiseled  features 
and  a  blameless  life  could  render  him.  The 
waking  Joseph  had  already  lines  of  premature 
manhood,  which  would  possibly  bring  shai*p 
contests  and  sorrows,  and  as  yet  had  none  of 
manhood's  philosophy ;  lines  which  Benjamin's 
smooth  brow  would  never  know,  for  he  was 
blind.  All  that  was  tender  and  gonerous  in 
the  Rost  nature  was  lavished  on  him.  His 
existence  M'as  made  one  of  music  in  flower- 
scented  nooks,  of  caressing  words  and  unre- 
buked  caprices,  of  summer  excursions  to  the 
palace,  of  intoxicating  delight  at  the  theatre, 
where  Ilolberg  moved  to  laughter,  and  Olen- 
schlager  inspired  awe.  If  there  were  selfish- 
ness and  sin  in  the  world,  he  had  not  discov- 
ered it,  for  the  father  jealously  guarded  the 
bloom  of  his  innocence,  and  was  over  watch- 
ful to  ward  off  disease  that  might  dull  the 
transparent  skin,  or  taint  the  soul. 

Habitually  the  family  laid  aside  their  gross- 
er selves  when  they  entered  the  presence  of 
Benjamin ;  while  so  startling  was  his  serene 
beauty,  that  involuntary  praise  followed  his 
steps  in  the  streets.  Unconsciously,  Joseph's 
whole  youth  had  been  a  sacrifice  to  his  broth- 
er. He  had  served  as  eyes  and  ears,  a  rough- 
ei',  firmer  bulwark  of  strength,  to  protect  his 
tender  helplessness. 

Joseph  had  a  separate  life,  the  one  of  edu- 
cation in  school  and  college,  which  was  to  fit 
him  to  do  battle  with  the  world;  Benjamin  had 
no  separate  life  from  Joseph.  The  harmonies 
that  flowed  througli  Solomon  Rost's  mansion 
were  interwoven  by  the  twins.  Deftly  Jo- 
seph's bow  sped  over  the  vibrating  chords  of 
his  precious  Cremona  violin,  while  Benjamin's 
white  fingers  glided  over  the  piano  keys. 

To  Joseph  age  seemed  possible,  in  the  fret- 
ting wear  and  tear  of  daily  routine  ;  Benjamin 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


li 


was  imperishable  youtli  in  its  most  ethcreal- 
ized  type. 

The  following  day  i\-as  the  feast  of  Pesach. 
The  preparation  for  and  observance  of  relig- 
ious services  were  always  strictly  discharged 
by  the  diamond  brokers.  There  had  never 
been  a  Imckslider  from  the  faith  of  their  fa- 
thers among  the  race. 

For  three  days  before  Pesach,  glass  utensils 
were  immersed  in  water,  copper  and  iron  ves- 
sels purified  by  fire,  and  the  whole  house 
cleansed.  The  appointed  fasts  had  been  kept, 
and  the  second  day  —  Enf  Pesach  —  sacredly 
observed,  because  on  that  day  the  Lord  slew 
the  first-born  of  Egypt,  and  Israel  was  spared. 
The  previous  night  Solomon  Host  had  pass- 
ed through  every  room  with  a  wooden  bowl 
and  quill,  to  detect  stray  morsels  of  food. 
Aunt  Martha  took  care  that  he  should  find 
some  scraps  in  his  progress,  as  that  was  ex- 
pected. At  dark  the  fomily  assembled  around 
the  table,  where  the  Paschal  Lamb  was  served 
with  unleavened  bread  and  bitter  herbs. 

The  father  presided  in  a  white  linen  robe. 
This  robe  was  the  epitome  of  Hebrew  man- 
hood. Presented  to  the  bridegroom  by  the 
bride,  it  was  ever  after  kept  to  be  worn  at 
the  Passover,  at  Yokmkipur,  feast  of  recon- 
ciliation, and  when  he  was  laid  in  his  coflin. 

The  father's  face  was  always  sad  when  he 
appeared  thus  arrayed :  the  hands  had  long 
since  crumbled  to  dust  that  wrought  the  pre- 
cious garment. 

On  his  right  hand  sat  Uncle  Abraham,  and 
on  the  left  Benjamin,  whose  Oriental  imagina- 


tion clothed  religion  with  all  the  sjjlendors  of 
worship  belonging  to  Solomon's  Temple.  He 
saw  the  priests  and  the  cherubim,  the  ark  of 
the  covenant,  the  ivory  throne.  Uncle  Abra- 
ham was  especially  to  be  revered,  because  he 
had  journeyed  to  Jerusalem  to  ]»ray  for  the 
restoration  of  his  peojde  in  the  v.-ailing-place 
of  the  Jews.  Aunt  Martha  wore  her  white 
hair  brushed  back  in  a  massive  roll,  like  the 
Ivussian  ladies,  a  black  velvet  gown,  and  a 
broad  collaret  of  yellow  gold,  llachcl,  in  a 
gay  silk  skirt,  muslin  stomacher,  embroidered 
with  silver,  and  purple  velvet  jacket,  was  so 
quiet  and  self-possessed  that  she  could  not 
have  been  recognized  as  the  radiant  figure  of 
the  previous  night. 

She  watched  Joseph  furtively  from  her 
place  by  the  chair  of  her  betrothed,  the  absent 
Samuel. 

The  young  man  was  pale  and  taciturn. 

The  doors  of  all  the  rooms  were  opened 
wide  by  a  servant,  for  the  entrance  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  and  then  Solomon  Rost  read  from  the 
book  of  the  captivity  in  Egypt. 

A  profound  silence  ensued. 

Benjamin  listened  with  parted  lips,  as  if  for 
the  rustle  of  wings. 

Suddenly  a  figure  appeared  with  uncovered 
head.  Rachel  uttered  an  exclamation  of  jo\-. 
Joseph  turned  Avhite,  and  glared  at  the  in- 
truder. 

Swathed  in  furs  until  ho  seemed  a  movable 
mountain  of  wraps,  cap  of  sea-otter,  gloves  of 
yellow  fox,  Samuel  Rost,  fresh  from  his  Lap- 
land journey,  stood  in  the  door-way. 


♦  * 


i 


CHAPTER  III. 


JOSEPH   S    FLIGHT. 


"  TITIIERE  is  Joseph?"  complained  Benja- 
»  T  min.  Several  hours  had  elapsed  since 
Samuel's  return,  and  the  harmony  of  the  meal 
had  been  fin-tlier  disturbed  by  Uncle  Abraham 
— superstitious  in  the  extreme — discovering  a 
pin  in  his  meat. 

"  Unclean  !"  muttered  tlie  strong  man,  drop- 
ping his  knife  in  dismay. 

"The  priest's  seal  was  set  upon  it,"  main- 
tained Aunt  ]\Iartlin,  wliose  housewifely  digni- 
ty was  assailed. 

But  Uncle  Abraham  did  not  recover  from 
the  shock,  which  he  persisted  in  regarding  as  a 
misfortune. 

"  It  never  happened  before  at  such  a  season," 
he  said,  gloomily ;  and  at  his  words  a  strange 
chill  of  apprehension  stole  over  the  family  group. 
Then  it  was  that  the  blind  brother  asked  for 
Joseph,  whose  absence  was  noticed  for  the  first 
time.  A  servant  was  dispatched  in  search  of 
him. 

Old  Gottlieb  returned  and  beckoned  Aunt 
Martlia  away,  silently.  She  returned  with  a 
troubled  mien,  which  she  vainly  endeavored  to 
render  composed. 

"  What  is  it,  woman  ?"  asked  Uncle  Abra- 
ham, harslily. 

Benjamin  lifted  his  head  like  a  startled  fawn. 

In  vain  Uncle  Abraham  souglit  to  clumsily 
laugh  away  his  sharp  question,  whicli  had  pro- 
duced more  alarm  even  than  Aunt  INIartha's 
startled  countenance.  In  vain  tliey  soothed 
Benjamin,  and  tried  to  lead  him  away.  He 
refused  to  move. 

"You  arc  deceiving  me,"  he  cried,  turning 
from  one  to  the  other ;  "I  too  will  hear  the 
truth."  Then  the  thunder-bolt  crashed  down. 
Joseph  had  gone  away  ! 

In  his  room  Aunt  Martha  discovered  a  letter, 
which  the  father  opened  : 


"  I  go  without  the  father's  blessing.  For- 
give me.  Time  will  prove  if  Samuel  is  the 
only  man  of  our  race.  I  know  the  family  se- 
cret ;  I  have  taken  the  papers  and  money.  It  is 
useless  to  send  Samuel  after  me ;  I  shall  main- 
tain the  advantage  of  being  first.  Let  him  re- 
main at  home  for  Rachel's  sake.  If  I  am  suc- 
cessful, I  will  return.  If  not,  forget  me.  The 
Lord  be  with  Benjamin  !  JosLrii." 

As  a  river,  born  in  higli  mountain  cradles, 
and  flowing  quietly  through  sequestered  val- 
leys, suddenly  sweeps  into  rushing  current  and 
foaming  cataract,  rending  a  channel  through 
ravines,  so  Joseph's  manhood  had  come.  As 
a  volcano  jets  living  flame  where  flowers  have 
bloomed,  so  the  repressed  fire  of  the  younger 
son's  jealous  hatred  of  Samuel,  chafing  in  sub- 
terranean channels  long,  burst  forth,  amazing 
the  family  with  its  fury. 

The  father  had  intended  to  be  just  in  rearing 
his  sons,  lavishing  all  the. care  on  their  educa- 
tion in  which  the  superior  class  of  his  people 
delight,  but  he  had  made  the  fatal  error  of 
treating  Joseph  still  as  a  youth  for  Benjamin's 
sake.  Unintentionally  he  had  slighted  the  mas- 
culine fibre  in  his  second  son,  wishing  to  keep 
him  at  home  for  companionship  to  the  darken- 
ed life.  Samuel  might  assume  the  double  bur- 
den of  responsibility  and  success  which  his  bold, 
aml)itious  nature  craved. 

Now  Joseph's  riglit  had  asserted  itself,  and 
the  father  discovered  it  all  too  late. 

"  The  dolt !  Tlie  young  fool !"  stormed  Un- 
cle Abraham.  "  He  has  ruined  our  enterprise 
by  his  presumption.  Overtake  him  !  ]Make 
him  repent  of  his  madness." 

"  Nay,  father,  Joseph  is  no  fool,"  said  Rachel. 

"  Of  what  has  the  young  whelp  robbed  me  ?" 
questioned  Samuel. 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


17 


"  He  has  gone  to  the  New  ^Yol•l J  in  thy 
place,"  groaned  Uncle  Abraham. 

"  Who  calls  Joseph  a  fool  ?"  cried  Aunt 
Martha,  shrilly.  "  Give  the  lad  a  chance  and 
he  will  equal  Samuel  any  day." 

When  the  twins  lay  in  one  cradle,  two  little 
round  heads  exactly  alike,  the  Kabbi  placed  a 
gold  piece  and  tjie  horn  on  them,  to  avert  the 
Evil  Eye ;  and  his  blessing  for  Joseph  was : 
*He  shall  be  strong  like  Judah,  and  have  the 
riches  of  Asher.'" 

Benjamin  stretched  forth  his  hands  with  a 
groping,  fluttering  movement,  and  his  tsoft, 
sightless  eyes  wore  a  mournful  expression  as 
he  murmured,  in  Hebrew,  "Why  hast  tliou 
forsaken  me,  oh  my  brother?" 

Then  the  father  and  Uncle  Abraham  rent 
their  clothes  and  bowed  their  heads. 

Rachel  alone  was  happy.  Joseph  had  gone 
for  her  sake,  and  she  was  grateful.  Now 
Samuel  was  spared  to  her.  She  nestled  close 
to  her  betrothed,  admiring  his  robust  form, 
his  handsome  face,  and  curling  auburn  beard. 

"Thou  art  safe!"  she  whispered. 
'  Samuel's  black  brows  met  in  a  sharp  frown  ; 
his  thoughts  were  not  of  Racliel.     If  he  could 
have  reached  the  fugitive,  he  would  have  smit- 
ten him  down.     He  thrust  her  aside. 

"Why  do  we  stay  moping  here?  He  has 
only  the  start  of  three  hours.  The  ports  are 
not  yet  open." 

Uncle  Abraham  exclaimed,  "Eight,  lad  I 
Bring  out  the  sledge." 

The  father  spoke  for  the  first  time,  slowly 
and  distinctly. 

"Samuel  may  follow  to  the  Small  Belt ;  and 
if  he  has  reached  the  other  side,  Joseph  shall 
go  in  peace." 

Filial  reverence  was  exacted  by  the  fiither 
before  all  other  considerations ;  Samuel  bit  his 
lip  savagely. 

The  sledge  and  horse  were  gone. 

A  curse  rose  from  Samuel's  heart  at  the  de- 
lay. Another  vehicle  was  procured,  and  he 
drove  away  into  the  silent  night.  Rachel 
stood  at  the  window,  watching  his  departure ; 
he  bad  passed  her  without  a  glance.  Joseph 
had  his  revenge,  if  he  desired  it,  for  the  dark 
cloud  of  discontent  even  now  rested  on  her  lips. 
She  was  bound  to  Samuel  by  one  of  the  long 
betrothals  of  the  North,  and  he  would  always 
regard  her  as  the  obstacle  whicli  prevented 
him  from  going  to  the  New  World.  If  real- 
ity would  dissipate  glory,  Samuel's  imagina- 
tion for  life  must  picture  the  dream  in  glow- 
ing colors. 

"I  wish  that  I  might  never  wear  the  brid- 
2 


al  dress.  What  prize  am  T,  compared  to 
gold!" 

Aunt  Martha,  who  sat  weeping  after  the  ex- 
citement, smiled  sadly.  In  her  day  she  had 
loved  a  Christian,  and  refused  to  wed.  Ben- 
jamin folded  Joseph's  letter  on  his  breast, 
where  it  was  found  wlien  he  died. 

In  the  mean  while  Joseph  had  matured  and 
executed  a  plan,  which  first  took  root  when  he 
overheard  the  fiimily  discussion,  and  Samuel 
proposed  as  emissary. 

By  nature  and  circumstance  both  crafty  and 
secretive,  he  evinced  no  interest  until  Samuel 
returned.  The  moment  had  arrived ;  he  acted 
with  prompt  decision.  He  wrote  his  letter; 
found,  in  a  desk  in  Uncle  Abraham's  cham- 
ber, the  money,  belts,  papers,  and  pouch  of 
coin ;  slipped  his  violin  into  a  shagreen  bag ; 
and,  wrapped  in  a  fur  cloak,  stole  from  the 
house.  It  was  the  work  of  a  few  moments 
to  harness  the  horse  to  the  sledge,  and  witli 
one  searching,  farewell  glance  to  disappear. 

At  that  hour  the  city  was  brilliant  with  life 
and  gayety,  yet  the  presence  of  lingering  win- 
ter gave  to  the  metropolis  a  solemn  covering 
of  white  snow,  suggestive  of  the  ice-cliffs  link- 
ing distant  shores  in  crystal  fetters,  of  frozen 
seas,  and  the  vast  fields  of  dcsolatior^  bounded 
by  the  midnight  sun.  The  Ostcr  Gade  was 
illuminated  from  end  to  end,  the  light  from 
spacious  windows  shedding  rosy  gleams  on 
flitting  forms  and  cold  streets.  From  the 
two  broad,  airy  market-places — the  Amarga- 
torf  and  the  Kongens  Nytorf — wide  streets  di- 
verged, throbbing  arteries  of  the  city's  warm 
life ;  but  winter  had  laid  an  iron  grasp  on  the 
shipping,  holding  masts  and  hulls  in  rigid  sus- 
pense of  motion. 

A  sob  rose  in  the  fugitive's  throat  as  he 
looked  back  on  the  beloved  home  spread  out 
before  his  gaze,  low  and  flat,  with  the  palace 
looming  up  above  the  domes  and  spires. 
How  he  loved  the  naked  beech  -  trees,  the 
chain  of  islets,  the  childhood  memories  of 
good  Bishop  Absalom !  How  he  wished  he 
had  embraced  Benjamin ;  won  a  smile  from 
Rachel  before  he  fled !  above  all,  received  the 
father's  blessing ! 

Goaded  rather  than  softened  by  these  reflec- 
tions, the  young  man  turned  away,  setting  his 
face  steadily  forward.  What  if  he  should  be 
overtaken  through  lingering  to  indulge  in  sen- 
timental fancies  ? 

Samuel's  mocking  laughter  seemed  to  follow 
him,  urging  greater  speed. 

The  mysterious  influences  of  spring  were  ev- 
erywhere silently  at  work,  rilling  through  the 


IS 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


earth's  rigid  frost  mask.  The  snow  was  no 
longer  a  firm  pavement,  and  Joseph's  sledge 
grated  in  many  spots  over  the  ground.  Tiiis 
made  his  progress  often  painful  and  slow.  Tlie 
fever  rose  in  his  veins ;  he  glanced  frequently 
over  his  shoulder  to  see  if  he  was  pursued  ;  lie 
spurred  on  his  flagging  steed.  Ileacliing  the 
water  at  last,  he  paused  at  bay.  Was  he  to 
be  thwarted,  checked,  and  turned  back  now  ? 
Spring-time  was  at  work  on  the  water,  no  longer 
with  gentle  fairies  that  tinkled  and  purled  as 
on  the  earth,  but  with  the  labor  of  Titans,  sap- 
ping the  ice  with  mighty  currents,  smiting  the 
winter  fetters  in  crashing  battle,  gathering  hills 
of  huge  green  blocks,  and  leaving  an  unbroken 
plane  of  the  crystal  surfixce  between,  rolling  in 
continuous  ripples  above  the  swell. 

Unsafe  to  cross  in  sledge,  inipas?able  by  boat, 
Joseph  Rost  scanned  the  barrier  far  and  wide. 
No  hope.  But  just  at  the  climax  of  his  agony 
he  glanced  back,  and  saw  Samuel  approaching 
at  furious  speed.  Jose])h  looked  once,  twice, 
then  urged  his  reluctant  steed  out  on  the  trem- 
bling strait. 


"Stop,  fool !"  shouted  Samuel,  reining  up. 

Joseph  cracked  his  whip  ;  rapid  motion  was 
the  only  safety.  The  horse  flew ;  the  ice  crack- 
ed with  startling  concussions ;  the  groaning,  sub- 
marine thunder  warned  of  danger ;  water  gush- 
ed up  in  the  track  behind. 

The  horse  flew,  but  the  v.holc  space  was  in 
motion  ;  the  ramparts  heaved ;  the  glittering 
pinnacles  toppled  forward ;  a  yawning  blue 
chasm  grew  and  grew  above. 

They  were  on  a  slender,  brittle  ice-bridge ; 
they  were  on  a  twirling  island  ;  they  were  on 
a  transparent  raft — then  the  horse  slipped,  the 
sledge  disappeared,  but  the  man,  on  a  single 
cake,  was  nearing  the  opposite  shore,  and  the 
free  waves  were  singing  their  song  of  release 
to  a  new  year. 

Thus  stood  the  two  brothers  on  opposite 
shores. 

"Curse  thy  ungrateful  child,"  prayed  Uncle 
Abraham.  But  the  father  uttered  no  curse, 
yet  he  gave  no  blessing. 

Thus  Joseph  Host  crossed  the  line  of  the 
future. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE   FAIRY   ISLES. 


THE  steamship  approached  land.  She  swept 
in  grandly  from  the  far  horizon  of  dis- 
tance, churning  the  wide,  tranquil  sea  into 
foam,  threaded  her  way  among  tlie  tortuous 
windings  of  the  coral  channel  safely,  and  drop- 
ped anchor  in  port. 

Among  the  motley  crowd  on  her  deck  a 
young  man  stood  silently  but  rapidly  scanning 
the  shore. 

He  beheld  a  chain  of  tiny  islands,  linked 
together  by  sharp-fanged  reefs,  and  anchored, 
as  it  were,  on  the  broad  bosom  of  the  ocean  ; 
boni  of  volcanic  throes,  built  up  from  subma- 
rine depths  in  many  an  arch  and  column  by 
the  busy  coral  polyps,  and  fringed  by  all  the 
beauties  of  the  tropics.  A  miniature  world, 
isolated,  and  unlike  any  other  portion  of  the 
earth's  surface,  swept  by  the  tempest's  wrath, 
sunny  and  smiling  in  the  bland  caresses  of  the 
south  wind,  with  the  ships  coming  and  going, 
messenger  birds  of  the  distant  great  continents. 

The  stranger  on  the  steamer's  deck  had  be- 
held the  low  rim  of  cloud  grow  to  a  level  shore, 
with  a  line  of  white,  firm  road  winding  along 
above  the  breakers'  crested  margin,  where  the 
surf  masses  rolled,  and  houses  were  visible  be- 
^•ond,  framed  in  stunted  palmetto  groves. 

Kow  they  had  paused  in  a  harbor  before  a 
town.  The  harbor  was  inclosed  by  gently  un- 
dulating hills,  and  the  clear,  pellucid  water 
mirrored  the  tapering  masts  and  graceful  hull 
of  a  vessel  here — shaded  from  turquoise  blue 
to  vivid  emerald  and  rose,  as  it  rippled  over 
solne  sandy  beach,  and  revealed  in  its  pure 
depths  the  delicate  sea-weed  forests,  brain- 
stones,  and  purple  fans,  waving  slowly  in  the 
current,  where  fish,  in  gorgeous  mail  of  silver 
and  gold,  darted  about  in  quivering  flashes  of 
light.  The  town  was  narrow,  crooked,  and 
quaint.     Rising  from  the  harbor's  brink,  and 


sloping  up  an  acclivity  sufficiently  steep  to  ren- 
der the  ill-paved  streets  precipitous,  and  to 
place  the  houses  one  above  the  other,  it  pre- 
sented a  confused  mass  of  stone  wall  and  roof, 
whitewashed  to  dazzling  brilliancy,  most  pain- 
ful to  the  eye  beneath  that  hot  sun.  The 
summit  of  the  hill  was  finally  crowned  by  a 
fort,  signal  station,  and  soldiers'  barracks. 

The  passengers  landed  on  the  low  quay, 
and  made  their  way  to  the  open  square  be- 
yond ;  and,  in  so  doing,  added  their  own  indi- 
viduality to  the  curious  mixture  of  nationali- 
ties there  collected. 

It  was  Sunday ;  yet,  owing  to  a  common 
cause  of  excitement,  the  square  presented  any 
thing  but  a  Protestant  sobriety  of  appearance. 

Troops  of  the  line,  clad  in  scarlet,  passed 
constantly,  with  stiff,  military  bearing ;  groups 
of  engineers  and  artillerymen,  resplendent  in 
blue  and  gold,  lounged  about  verandas ;  and 
jolly  Jack  Tars  lurched  along,  carrying  their 
shoes  and  a  bottle  slung  over  one  shoulder, 
each  wearing  a  big  rose  in  his  button-hole 
— emblem  of  a  day  on  shore.  Eager,  sallow- 
hued  Americans  conversed  with  placid,  blonde 
Englishmen  ;  a  Frenchman  gesticulated  to  a 
grave  Spaniard ;  gangs  of  low-browed,  swarthy 
men,  gathered  from  the  worst  elements  of  all 
races  under  heaven,  awaited  orders  or  smoked 
in  idleness.  These  last  were  the  crews  of  ves- 
sels. 

Truly,  the  birds  of  prey  had  gathered  from 
afar  on  the  Fairy  Isles. 

Everywhere  strolled  merry,  careless  negroes, 
some  in  rags,  some  in  gaudy  finery,  children  of 
the  plenty  of  the  hour,  unvexed  by  the  cares 
which  drew  sharp  lines  in  the  white  faces 
about  them. 

Tucker  (lineal  descendant  of  old  Dan,  possi- 
bly) lay  on  his  back  in  the  sun,  basking  among 


20 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


the  lizards,  eating  bananas,  his  Mack,  beady 
eyes  t\vini<ling  over  the  newly-arrived  stran- 
gers. 

Susan,  in  licr  striped  organdie  nmslin,  brass 
ear-rings,  and  yellow  turban,  cared  not  that 
the  week  would  bring  its  inevitable  burden 
of  soiled  linen,  to  be  laid  on  rocks  and  pound- 
ed with  stones  (Susan's  mode  of  cleansing),  as 
long  as  she  could  flaunt  her  present  splendor. 

Old  Mahala,  with  an  eye  to  the  main  chance, 
had  driven  her  sturdy  little  donkey  into  town 
early,  and  stood  beside  the  small  wagon  heap- 
ed high  with  amber -tinted  Lisbon  lemons, 
clusters  of  Loquot  plums  among  their  own 
cool,  green  leaves,  and  great  globes  of  shad- 
docks. Flags  fluttered  from  many  houses  in 
a  fitful  breeze  that  made  the  colors  of  France 
salute  Austria  across  the  way ;  those  of  Bel- 
gium and  Italy  droop  one  instant,  and  the 
next  fling  abroad,  as  if  in  mutual  defiance, 
the  starred  banner  of  the  United  States  and 
the  white  emblem  of  the  then  Confederacy. 
The  young  man  gazed  long  and  earnestly  at 
a  red  standard  with  painful  emotions,  and  un- 
covered his  head  reverently  to  the  ensign  of 
King  Christian.  Few  persons  had  noticed 
him ;  men's  thoughts  were  engrossed  by  the 
one  anxiety  of  the  day ;  but  as  he  stood  be- 
fore the  flag,  a  small,  bent  figure  turned, 
glanced  at  him,  with  a  sudden  recognition 
leaping  out  of  the  greenish  gray  eyes. 

Moving  slowly  back  toward  the  quay,  the 
young  man  won  a  ready  knowledge  of  the 
cause  of  this  general  condition  of  expectancy 
by  the  ease  with  which  his  tongue  glided  from 
one  language  to  another.  This  gift  is  possess- 
ed, to  a  remarkable  degree,  by  Northern  na- 
tions. 

"The  Swan  is  overdue,  and  we  are  watch- 
ing for  her,"  said  a  captain,  in  reply  to  a  ques- 
tion. 

"I  am  watching  for  her  also,"  returned  the 
young  man,  smiling. 

He  was  grave  and  reticent,  but  he  made  his 


way.  The  captain  stroked  liis  sandy  mus- 
tache, and  eyed  the  other  a  moment,  then  nod- 
ded encouragingly. 

"Going  to  run  in,  cli  ?  Well,  the  Swanks 
the  best  craft  afloat,  and  the  men  arc  a  plucky 
lot.  I  don't  mind  saying  that,  although  my  tub 
down  yonder  has  never  been  caught  yet." 

The  crowd  in  the  square  had  waxed  impa- 
tient, gloomy,  or  reckless,  according  to  their 
several  natures.  Where  was  the  Swan,  al- 
ready famous  for  her  success? 

Probably  many  of  them  had  staked. their  all 
on  this  one  vessel.  They  had  cast  their  dice 
on  a  perilous  throw  in  this,  the  gambling  game 
of  the  nineteenth  century,  par  excellence,  and 
would  be  encouraged  to  further  hazard  if  she 
won. 

Groups  had  gathered  on  house-tops  with 
telescopes ;  individuals  climbed  elevated  spots 
for  a  first  glimpse ;  all  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
signal-station  pole. 

Suddenly  tlic  ball  ran  up  the  pole,  dipped, 
and  remained  stationary.  Then  a  distant 
murmur  echoed  along  the  hills,  and  gathered 
to  a  jubilant  shout  as  it  rolled  through  the 
town.  Reaction  from  doubt  and  despair  was 
the  maddest  ecstasy.  Men  gave  way  to  ex- 
travagant rejoicings ;  they  wrung  the  hands 
of  known  foes ;  they  embraced  ;  they  wept. 

The  Swan  was  safe,  and  they  were  rich ! 

Infected  insensibly  by  tlie  general  enthusi- 
asm, and  the  entire  novelty  of  the  scene,  the 
young  man  watched  the  Swa7i  approach. 

A  low,  slender-built  vessel,  wearing  her  gay 
pennons  streaming  much  as  a  coquette  does 
holiday  ribbons,  she  glided  through  the  water 
like  a  snake,  until  within  range  of  the  shouts 
of  welcome  which  greeted  her  from  the  shore. 

"  One  would  imagine  they  owned  the  isl- 
ands," said  a  harsh,  nasal  voice  in  Danish. 

The  young  man  wheeled  round,  and  survey- 
ed the  small,  bent  figure  with  amazement. 

"  Reuben  Wentzel !" 

"  Joseph  Rost !" 


CHAPTER  V. 


AT  THE   POOL. 


THE  two  men  were  well  mr.tched.     If  Reu-  { 
ben  Wentzel,  by  virtue  of  his  superior  age 
and  experience,  fancied  that  he  was  to  obtain 
an  advantage  over  his  young  countryman,  he  | 
was   mistaken.     The   close  visor  of  Joseph's  ' 
cold,  proud  features  had  been  raised  for  an  in- 
stant, revealing  surprise  and  annoyance ;  after- 
ward it  fitted  down  with  impenetrable  reserve. 

A  meeting  with  prying,  peering  Reuben,  at 
this  juncture,  was  unfortunate.  The  "Wentzels 
were  vastly  inferior  in  social  position  to  the 
Rost  family,  and  that,  too,  in  a  race  where  the 
distinctions  between  rich  and  poor  are  rigidly 
maintained. 

Joseph's  earliest  instinct  of  childhood  may 
have  been  contemptuous  superiority  for  the 
cringing,  servile  Wentzels  over  the  way,  who 
were  sometimes  employed  by  the  diamond 
brokers  in  a  menial  capacity,  and  invited  to 
sit  at  feasts  below  the  salt. 

As  for  Reuben,  he  was  on  the  qui  vive  of 
curiosity  to  know  what  had  sent  young  Rost  ta 
this  quarter  of  the  globe.  On  the  other  hand, 
young  Rost  intended  to  take  particularly  good 
care  that  his  newly-found  acquaintance  should 
not  discover  the  actual  object  of  his  mission. 

"  It  is  pleasant  to  meet  one  from  fotherland 
out  here,"  obsened  Reuben,  smoothly,  when  a 
somewhat  constrained  silence  had  followed  the 
first  rapid  greeting. 

"  If  the  person  is  a  welcome  friend,"  return- 
ed Joseph.  He  had  not  yet  been  able  to  de- 
cide what  course  to  pursue  with  Wentzel,  the 
rencontre  had  been  so  sudden ;  but  his  first 
impulse  was  to  erect  such  a  barrier  of  haugh- 
tiness, founded  on  his  own  higher  rank,  that 
Wentzel  would  leave  him  alone  for  the  future. 

Perhaps  Uncle  Abraham  and  the  father 
would  have  crossed  weapons  with  Reuben  in- 
stead, tried  the  subtler  art  of  deceit  in  exact 


measure  for  measure,  yet  Joseph,  the  novice, 
felt  a  conviction  that  it  would  require  a  con- 
summate actor  to  deceive  Reuben's  ferret  eye. 

Observe,  we  are  not  describing  an  Anglo- 
Saxon  youth,  blulF  and  honest,  but  the  son  of  a 
people  whose  aims  and  operations  have,  from  ne- 
cessity, followed  circuitous  avenues  of  thought 
for  ages. 

Reuben  chuckled  as  if  vastly  amused  by  the 
other's  curtness. 

"We  are  all  equals  in  America,  remember. 
My  faith  !  A  different  lesson  from  Denmark. 
Who  would  have  thought  of  seeing  young  Rost, 
the  college  student,  out  here?  Is  Benjamin 
with  you  ?" 

"  Herr  Benjamin  Rost  is  at  home." 

"Ah,  yes.  There's  money  to  be  made,  lad, 
when  a  country  is  at  war.  Did  the  uncle  think 
of  that  ?■' 

His  familiar  tone  galled  the  young  man,  but 
he  kept  his  temper  under  control,  well  know- 
ing that  Reuben's  aim  might  be  to  throw  him 
off  his  guard  and  reveal  more  than  was  wise, 
in  a  hasty  burst  of  wrath. 

"  I  have  an  enterprise  in  South  Carolina ; 
share  it  with  me,"  said  Wentzel,  earnestly,  lay- 
ing his  hand  on  Joseph's  sleeve. 

Joseph  shook  off  the  touch  disdainfully,  and 
replied,  coldly  : 

"I  am  less  likely  to  share  your  projects  than 
you  are  to  divide  mine.  You  are  old  enough 
to  learn  the  lesson  I  was  taught  from  the  cra- 
dle." 

"And  what  may  the  lesson  have  been,  my 
pretty  boy,"  interrupted  Reuben,  with  an  ugly 
sneer. 

"If  a  Hebrew  does  not  often  trust  a  Chris- 
tian, still  less  frequently  does  he  trust  one  of 
his  own  kind,"  said  Joseph,  slowly  and  dis- 
tinctly. 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


"As  you  please,"  retorted  Kcuben,  shrug- '  the  Crustacea,  in  lustrous  armor  arrayed,  and 
ging  his  shoulders.  "If  you  are  not  too  old  the  little  crab  looked  at  him,  until,  terrified  by 
to  learn,  I  will  quote  to  you  the  Spanish  prov-  the  vastness  of  the  subject,  it  skurried  back 
erb  ;  'Hast  thou  one  friend,  it  is  not  enough,  i  into  the  shell.  "This  thing  is  too  wonderful 
Hast  thou  one  enemy,  it  is  too  many.' "  for   me.       I   must   ask    the   lobster   what   it 


Joseph  laughed  scornfully,  and  turned  away. 
The  face  of  his  late  companion  grew  dark  witli 


means,"  reflected  the  crab.     The  man  tossed 
the  shell  carelessly  away,  and  sat  with  moody 


anger,  not  entirely  because  the  young  man's  '  brows. 


insolence  had  stung  him — insolence  in  every 
form  had  too  frequently  been  his  portion — 
but  because  his  hatred  of  the  more  prosper- 
ous Host  fiiniily  was  kindled  by  the  sight  of 
one  of  them.  "What  venture  h.ad  they  out 
here  ?  Was  he  to  be  foiled  by  a  mere  strip- 
ling? Already  he  hungered  to  solve  the  se- 
cret of  Joseph's  mission  and  share  the  sjjoils, 
yet  his  very  greediness  rendered  him  precipi- 
tate. As  a  natural  result,  he  Avatchcd  Joseph 
day  and  night. 

And  Joseph  ?  Waiting  for  the  blockader 
to  be  ready  for  her  voyage,  he  spent  long  days 
rambling  through  avenues  where  the  oleanders 
extended  for  miles  in  twin  rows  of  rosy  bloom ; 
or  he  sought  gently  -  curved  dells,  cups  lined 
with  green  moss  velvet,  dewy  and  cool,  where 
the  rocks  rose  steep,  draped  exquisitely  by  na- 
ture with  delicate  fern  fronds,  plumes  and  tufts 
of  stan7  flowers,  vines  clinging  with  emerald- 
tinted,  transparent  fingers  to  the  face  of  tlie 
stone ;  while  air-plants  twined  their  clustering 
blossoms,  and  spread  waxy,  thick  leaves,  icy- 
cold  to  the  touch,  as  a  parapet. 

At  times  his  gaze  rested  on  country  houses, 
with  low,  sloping  verandas  and  detached  slave- 
quarters,  deserted  long  ago,  set  in  a  tangled 
wilderness  of  palms,  orange  and  papaw  trees, 
golden-fruited,  dank,  stained,  and  dark,  where 
sluggish  centipedes  crept,  and  huge  tarantulas 
lurked  in  the  gloom  for  prey. 

At  times  he  explored  the  dim  recesses  of 
coral  caves,  with  arch-fretted  dome  depending 
glittering  stalactites,  where  the  sea  stole  in 
limpid  ripples  out  of  the  sunlight,  and  the  pur- 
ple-rayed anemones  expanded  silky  tentacles 
to  the  tide. 

Again,  he  flung  himself  on  the  strand,  slip- 
ped the  tiny,  perfect  rice-shells  through  his 
fingers,  watching  idly  the  sea-birds  wheel  in 
rapid  flight,  and  the  cedar  smoke  curl  from 
the  chimneys,  fragrant  as  incense. 

All  about  him  stirred  the  mysterious  im- 
pulses of  a  world  of  wliich  he  took  no  heed. 


A  sea-egg  rolled  along  the  brink  of  the  wa- 
ter, a  crimson  ball  of  bristling  spines — far  too 
insignificant  for  Joseph  to  notice,  absorbed 
in  his  own  affairs ;  but  soon  the  sea-egg,  with 
the  aid  of  wee  pickaxe  and  shovel,  would  hol- 
low out  for  itself  a  cave  in  the  cliff,  where  it 
might  rest  secure,  and  the  dancing  waves 
would  bring  food  to  the  veiy  door.  Could 
Joseph  achieve  more  in  his  day,  than  to  drill 
a  habitation  in  the  living  granite  of  his  uni- 
verse ? 

In  the  great  deep  around,  countless  flower- 
heads  crowned  the  submerged  reefs,  the  ma- 
sons and  builders  of  the  ocean  laboring  quiet- 
ly, united  by  a  common  life,  Avorking  for  a  sin- 
gle purpose,  then  perishing  when  their  destiny 
was  fulfilled.  Would  the  young  man  on  the 
shore  raise  firm  battlements  and  castles  of 
right  to  oppose  the  restless  main,  or  would  he 
join  the  army  of  waves  trooping  onward  to 
crumble  such  fair  foundations? 

A  coral-builder  instead  of  a  wasting  billow, 
Joseph  Eost,  although  ignorant  of  it  yourself. 

Constantly  he  carried  the  thought  of  Reu- 
ben's watchfulness  with  him,  and  turned  it 
over  in  his  mind.  Although  it  troubled,  it 
did  not  actually  alarm  him.  Instinctively  he 
was  bracing  himself  for  the  struggle,  in  what- 
ever form  it  might  come  ;  and  when  once  he 
had  left  these  islands  he  need  be  no  longer 
annoyed  by  close  proximity  with  his  enemy. 

People  are  verv  apt  to  underrate  the  power 
of  enemies  to  work  their  injury  in  this  world. 
They  are  contented  to  go  their  way  peaceably ; 
why  may  not  the  mischief-makers?  But  the 
mischief-makers  are  not  satisfied,  prompted  by 
malice  or  envy ;  and  so  harm  is  done,  by  total 
inaction  on  one  side  and  excessive  activity  on 
the  other.  If  it  requires  two  to  make  a  quar- 
rel, it  is  also  possible  for  one  to  drag  the  other 
into  final  altercation,  and  rejoice  in  the  achieve- 
ment. It  is  also  possible  for  men  and  women 
to  hate  intensely  those  they  have  never  seen, 
from  preference  and  prcce^lence  accorded  them. 


Lo !  from  tiie  door  of  his  pearl  mansion,  with  j  Keuben  might  hate  Joseph  for  being  a  Kost ; 
whorlcd  roof  and  cunning  device  of  architect-  but  Joseph,  who  had  always  tasted  the  sweets 
ural  design,  stepped  a  fiiiry  crab  on  that  wide  of  that  lot,  and  never  the  bitter  dregs  pertain- 
plain  of  the  unknown— Joseph's  hand.  The  ing  to  a  Wcntzel,  would  not  be  likely  to  fath- 
young  man  looked  curiously  at  this  atom  of  '  om  the  deptli  of  the  emotion.     Thus,  on  the 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


23 


Fairy  Isles  were  pent  up  some  of  the  basest, 
most  selfish  passions  of  the  luiman  heart. 

Joseph  wished,  notliing  of  Wcntzel,  felt  no 
interest  in  his  success  or  failure,  despised  his 
vulgar  exterior,  and  most  enijjhatically  intend- 
ed that  he  should  not  meddle  with  iiis  own 
business. 

Wentzcl,  on  the  contrary,  determined  to  pos- 
sess Joseph's  secret,  if  not  by  fair  means,  by 
foul ;  for  he  was  proud  of  his  cunning.  To 
say  that  he  was  disappointed  by  the  young 
man's  reception  of  him,  thousands  of  miles  from 
home,  and  under  circumstances  wliich  would 
render  a  familiar  face  welcome,  would  be  true  ; 
yet  he  was  only  piqued  by  a  first  failure  to  re- 
doubled exertion. 

There  was  fatal  leisure  for  jilotting  and  re- 
flecting —  tliose  tropical  days  on  the  Fairy 
Isles. 

At  last  the  time  for  sailing  approached  ;  tlie 
Sivan  would  start  next  morning.  Joseph  roused 
himself  from  apathy ;  for  his  external  indo- 
lence seemed  apathy,  whatever  his  mental  ac- 
tivity might  be. 

Before  the  sun  has  run  its  course,  and  sunk 
again  be\-t»nd  the  horizon,  as  it  was  then  doing, 
painting  water  and  sky  with  crimson  glories, 
he  would  be  far  on  his  way.  The  mirage  of 
sunset  held  strange  cloud-phantoms  suspended 
in  rose  mist  for  a  moment,  and  vanished  in  the 
clear  expanse  of  evening  sky.  Then  the  moon 
sailed  up  the  heavens,  large,  soft,  and  mellow, 
shedding  a  wealth  of  silvery  radiance  over  the 
broad  track  of  waters.  Tremulous  rays  of 
moonbeams  quivered  through  the  masses  of  fo- 
liage ;  the  roofs  of  the  town  glittered  like  mar- 
ble in  the  pale  light. 

Here  and  there  a  mountain  cabbage -palm 
reared  a  slender  column  and  feathery  crown ; 
the  mahogany-tree  spread  black  and  motionless 
above  the  broad  space  of  road  ;  every  spike  of 
the  Spanish  bayonets,  bristling  over  the  garden 
wall,  gleamed  ;  and  from  the  garden  floated 
the  mingled  perfume  of  jasmine,  allspice,  and 
orange  blossoms. 

A  holy  calm  seemed  to  brood  over  the  place 
on  snowy  pinions.  The  sad  plash  of  the  puls- 
ing tide,  the  sharp  tap  of  a  drum,  the  careless 
mirth  of  negro  laughter,  occasionally  smote  the 
ear,  succeeded  by  restful  silence. 

Two  men  met  suddenly  on  a  lonely  height. 

"  Still  interested  in  me  ?"  questioned  Joseph, 
mockingly.      '•  I  assure  you  it  is  useless." 

Reuben  nearly  lost  his  temper. 

"Young  one  I  I  am  a  better  friend  than 
foe,"  he  warned,  shaking  one  yellow  forefinger. 
"  Let  me  help  you,  and  I  am  your  servant  for- 


ever 
injur 


cast  me  ofl"  and  I  will  work  vou  deadlv 


"  Do  not  threaten  jhc,  Reuben  Wentzcl," 
said  Joseph,  sternly,  all  his  manhood  on  the 
mettle.     lie  walked  on. 

Reuben  resembled  a  fox  as  much  as  it  is 
possible  for  a  human  being  to  look  like  an  ani- 
mal. A  rusty,  red  fringe  of  hair  encircled  his 
sharp  face,  rising  above  the  forehead  in  a  thick 
brush,  in  the  manner  of  Reynard's  fur.  A 
narrow  head,  higli  cheek-bones,  long,  thin  nose, 
with  eyebrows  meeting  and  describing  an  up- 
ward curve  toward  the  temples,  and  small  eyes, 
set  close  together,  completed  the  similarity. 
To  see  Reuben  softly  tracing  the  steps  of  men, 
or  cogitating  in  his  burrow,  reminded  one  for- 
cibly that  his  own  brothers  of  the  animal  king- 
dom trotted  through  sheltered  paths  of  the 
Black  Forest,  and  doubled  back  cleverly  on  the 
hunters,  obliterating  their  traces  in  the  snow 
by  means  of  tlieir  owii  plumy  tails.  Yet  he 
had  never  been  specially  successful.  His  very 
greed  of  gain  was  against  him  ;  and  the  world 
claims,  in  its  transactions,  a  larger  return  of 
honest  equivalent  than  Reuben  was  likely  to 
give. 

The  road  turned  abruptly,  and  descended  to 
the  shore.  The  ocean  had  here  hollowed  out 
a  sheltered  cove,  where  the  water  now  spread 
like  a  crystal  shield,  with  a  sparkling  ripple 
flashing  and  breaking  along  the  sand.  On  one 
side  the  ocean  lapsed,  on  the  other  was  a  deep 
pool,  fed  by  subterranean  rills,  and  protected 
by  a  railing  around  the  margin.  The  spot 
was  entirely  secluded. 

Half  of  the  road  lay  in  ink -black  shadow 
flung  by  the  overhanging  hill,  while  opposite 
stretched  the  dazzling  splendor  of  the  moonlit 
sea,  every  crest  flecked  by  changing,  flickering 
reflections.  A  negro  hut,  perched  above,  af- 
forded shelter  to  the  owner  of  the  pool. 

Joseph  leaned  over  the  railing,  and  gazed 
into  the  shadowy  depths  with  a  strange  fasci- 
nation. Duskj'  shapes  flitted  far  below,  grow- 
ing out  of  obscurity,  and  melting  into  it  again. 
,  "Tush!  A  Wentzel  is  far  too  prudent  to 
do  me  an  injury,"  he  deliberated,  dropping  a 
pebble  into  the  water,  and  watching  the  wide 
rings  circle  from  it. 

Instantly  tlie  dusky  forms  below  became  an- 
imated, and  rose  to  the  surface.  They  were 
large  fish,  with  gorgeous  scales,  protruding  eyes 
that  stared  cruelly  in  search  of  prey,  and  mouths 
which  gaped,  revealing  broad,  scarlet  throats, 
as  if  stained  with  the  blood  of  victims.  Was. 
it  the  moonbeams  resting  on  the  pool,  or  did 
a  pallid   phosphorescence  mark  rieir   sintioi> 


2-4 


JOSEl'II  THE  JEW. 


movements?  In  tliis  pen  the  fish  were  fed 
and  fattened  for  tlie  table  of  epicures. 

Joseph's  arms  were  suddenly  pinioned  to  his 
side,  and  tiie  upper  portion  of  his  body  thrust 
far  over  the  frail  railing,  which  creaked  beneath 
his  weight.  The  fish  glared  up  at  him  in  ex- 
pectant suspense  ;  he  gazed  back  at  them  in  hor- 
rible agony.  It  was  as  if  voracious,  cannibal 
death  waited  to  devour  reluctant,  animated  life. 
Terror  paralyzed  him.  Dull  sounds  rung  in 
his  ears,  perhaps  his  own  knell.  A  white  film 
floated  between  him  and  the  pool,  out  of  which 
gazed  earnestly  the  shadowy  faces  of  Kachel 
and  Benjamin,  Oh,  the  leaden  agony  of  sus- 
pense !  The  more  fearful  dread  of  fulfill- 
ment! 

"  Well,'  have  you  seen  enough  ?"  said  the 
man  behind,  with  a  grating  laugh.  "I  am 
tempted  to  drop  you.  I  told  you  I  was  a  bet- 
tei-  friend  than  foe.     JMako  me  a  friend." 


Joseph  had  remained  passive  in  his  grasp, 
with  remarkable  presence  of  mind,  fearing  that 
any  struggle  would  break  the  railing,  and  pre- 
cipitate both  into  the  pool.  Of  a  lithe  and  ag- 
ile build,  he  now  concentrated  all  his  energies 
into  one  unexpected,  backward  spring,  which 
made  his  captor  reel,  and  twisting  around, 
seized  the  other,  raised  him  from  the  grpund, 
with  nerves  strung  to  steel  by  intense  excite- 
ment, and  threw  him  to  a  distance,  where  he 
fell  stunned  and  senseless. 

The  moon  shone  down  upon  strange  scenes 
that  night — the  struggle  of  armies,  the  plotting 
of  monarchs,  souls  born,  souls  departing  ;  yet, 
surely,  there  were  few  more  startling  than  the 
silent  strife  between  these  two  men  on  the 
quiet  shore  of  the  peaceful  islands.  "  It  was 
but  a  jest,"  muttered  Reuben,  rising  slowly,  and 
looking  vacantly  around. 

lie  was  alone. 


CHAPTER  YL 


RUNNINCx   THE   BLOCKADE, 


A  SLENDER,  graceful  craft,  built  for  stealthy 
treachery  her  enemies  affirmed,  for  lawful 
speed  her  friends  protested.  In  color,  a  part 
of  the  leaden,  twilight  waters  and  dim  horizon  ; 
in  progress,  noiseless,  ever  ready  to  turn  in  her 
own  length  of  v,-ater,  the  Swaii  was  the  choicest 
stake  of  the  gamblers. 

Her  crew  was  a  curious  assortment  of  men, 
at  once  reckless  and  anxious,  bound  together 
by  a  common  interest  in  danger,  yet  each  mov- 
ing in  a  separate  atmosphere  of  suspicion  and 
mystery.  Not  an  officer  failed  to  take  some 
private  venture  in  quinine  or  liquor,  and  in- 
dulged in  pleasurable  anticipations,  during  the 
•voyage,  of  fabulous  prices  paid  in  a  war-smit- 
ten land. 

At  the  last  moment  the  captain  came  off  in 
a  gig,  laden  with  honors  by  his  friends  ashore  ; 
for  the  Fairy  Isles  were  enlisted  heart  and  soul 
in  the  cause,  although  much  was  said  about  oc- 
cupying neutral  ground. 

Then  the  Swan  steamed  away,  and  the  Fairy 
Isles  faded  from  palm-crowned  beach  to  a  cloud 
line,  where  a  star  flashed  and  w'aned  against 
the  clear  sk}-,  as  the  light-house  turret  shed  a 
warning  beacon  over  the  sea. 

Oddly  enough,  Joseph  Eost  and  Keuben 
Wentzel  were  fellow  -  passengers  ;  the  latter 
submissively  conciliatory,  the  former  more  af- 
fable than  formerly. 

In  fear  of  being  summoned  before  the  au- 
thorities, Reuben  sought  Joseph  after  the  strug- 
gle at  the  pool.  Joseph  betrayed  little  resent- 
ment, and  accepted  Reuben's  statement  that  he 
was  in  jest. 

"  Of  course  a  man  of  your  prudence  would 
not  be  rash  enough  to  get  into  trouble.  Nev- 
er repeat  it.  I  warn  you.  There  !  We  will 
forget  it," 

"You arc  generous, "said  Reuben,  doubtfully. 


On  board  the  Stvan  all  were  strangers,  all 
bent  on  gain,  running  to  one  goal,  and  fearing 
to  be  outstripped  by  a  more  successful  compet- 
itor. 

The  taciturn  captain  moved  among  tliem, 
ever  ready  to  detect  treachery  and  punish  it ; 
the  Swan  in  her  race  for  life  could  by  no  means 
afford  to  harbor  traitors. 

The  captain  was  a  squarely-built,  muscular 
man,  with  a  tinge  of  Welsh  blood  in  his  proud 
face,  black-bearded,  the  shaven  mouth  reveal- 
ing thin  lips,  which  closed  like  a  spring,  and 
parted  very  slightly  to  give  egress  to  his  few- 
words.  He  wore  a  havelock,  the  dazzling  white 
linen  affording  a  striking  relief  to  the  bronze 
face,  and  a  superb  intaglio  ring  on  the  third 
finger.  Passengers  on  the  Swan  knew  as  little 
about  the  captain  as  he  did  about  them.  Ru- 
mor dealt  with  his  rank,  and  raised  him  to  a 
baronetcy.  Names  ?  He  rejoiced  in  half  a  doz- 
en, all  of  which  suited  him  equally  well. 

Two  other  men  on  board  attracted  Joseph's 
attention.  One  was  a  tall,  erect  veteran,  scar- 
red in  many  battles,  and  turning  toward  a  war 
from  the  ends  of  the  earth,  if  need  be,  as  natu- 
rally as  birds  of  prey  gather  to  the  feast.  This 
soldier  had  witnessed  all  the  campaigns  of  his 
day,  had  braved  the  Crimean  snows,  served  un- 
der Garibaldi,  and  with  equal  ardor  aided  Aus- 
tria ;  his  keen  glance,  now,  was  directed  to  the 
New  World. 

The  other  was  a  small,  limp  man,  wrapped  in 
a  faded  cloak,  who  lounged  listlessly  against  the 
bulwark,  and  appeared  to  see  nothing.  Joseph 
could  not  determine  whether  he  wore  a  wig  or 
not,  but  certain  it  was  that  the  insignificant 
little  man  beheld  more  than  was  apparent. 

The  Swan  slid  over  the  tranquil  waters, 
tlireaded  daintily  the  sullen  billows  of  that 
dark,  blue  ribbon,  the  Gulf  Stream,  and  saw,  on 


2G 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


the  right  hand  or  the  left,  no  danger.  The 
sun  ran  its  course  twice,  and  the  captain  paced 
the  deck,  one  monotonous  round,  smoking  che- 
roots incessantly,  while  his  eagle  glance  swept 
the  horizon.  Others  might  droop  witli  the  un- 
natural strain  of  fatigue  and  suspense,  but  the 
captain 'never  did.  Each  successive  morning 
found  liim  at  his  post,  composed  and  wakeful, 
sipi)ing  cafe  n(jir,  a  palor  growing  in  his  swarthy 
face. 

Tlie  tliird  d;iy  dawned,  murky,  hot,  foggy, 
and  tiic  Sirun  altered  her  previous  rate  of 
speed.  Slie  drifted  irresolutely  on  the  surging 
waves,  toy  of  the  elements  apparently,  and  part 
of  the  shifting  mists. 

"  Wc  could  not  have  more  favorable  weath- 
er," the  captain  observed. 

Toward  evening  the  vessel  ceased  to  sport 
with  wind  and  waves  ;  every  thing  denoted  a 
change.  It  was  as  if  the  bow — each  man  a 
muscle  fibre — was  bent  to  the  work,  and  the 
arrow  fitted  to  win  the  mark.  Hovering  on 
the  verge  of  obscurity  eager  eyes  could  discern 
a  blur  of  stationary  light  in  the  fog.  The 
seal  of  silence  stamped  the  whole  crew,  yet  it 
was  a  stillness  electric  with  purpose.  Figures 
moved  about,  as  if  shod  with  velvet,  and  obey- 
ed gestures  ;  smoke-stacks  were  lowered  ;  the 
very  machinery  of  motion  ran  in  oiled  grooves. 

"Steer  fur  the  admiral's  light,"  commanded 
the  captain,  scarcely  above  a  whisper,  but  ev- 
ery soul  heard. 

Joseph  turned  to  look  at  him.  Awaiting 
with  the  zest  of  intense  enjoyment  the  issue  of 
his  dangerous  enterprise,  the  veins  beat  in  his 
olive  cheek,  his  hand  clenched  over  the  tele- 
scope he  held,  and  a  defiant  exultation  expand- 
ed his  whole  person.  Peril  was  to  him  an  ex- 
hilarating tonic.  He  had  played  hide-and-seek 
with  violent  deatli  all  his  life-,  and  was  content- 
ed to  so  poise  the  balance  until  the  end.  Reu- 
ben Wentzel  sank  down  on  the  deck,  c]asj)ed 
his  hands,  and  groaned  aloud. 

A  terrible  liglit  flashed  in  the  captain's  eye  : 
without  uttering  a  word,  he  lifted  the  Jew  and 
dropped  him  down  the  companion  way.  Then 
he  motioned  contemptuously  to  Joseph  Host  to 
follow.  Stung  by  the  look,  the  young  man 
braced  himself,  and  responded  by  a  glance 
equally  bitter.  The  captain  bowed  and  re- 
sumed I'.is  place. 

A  pluintom  ship,  breatldess,  lifeless,  the  Sivan 
crept  on.  She  advanced  nearer  the  admiral's 
light-ship  —  her  very  audacity  her  chance  of 
safety  —  glided  like  a  spectre  almost  beneath 
the  stately  bows  of  the  man-of-war,  and  slid  on 
beyond.     She  had  run  the  gauntlet !     "Safe," 


was  the  word  framed  by  voiceless  lips.  Al- 
ready visions  of  Champagne  suppers  and  reck- 
less rejoicing  in  port  were  indulged  in.  Only 
the  captain's  features  were  haggard  with  ex- 
pectation. A  wide,  white  fog  wall  shut  down 
before  and  beliind  them,  blank  and  inijjene- 
trable.  Suddenly  a  dark  spot  appeared  and 
loomed  abeve  tliem  :  it  was  the  broadside  of  a 
sliip.  An  involuntary  exclamation  of  dismay 
welled  up  to  Joseph's  lips  ;  the  captain  was  at 
his  side  in  an  instant,  with  a  gesture  of  silen- 
cing menace.  A  shudder  palpitated  through 
the  Swmi ;  she  trembled  at  her  own  peril ;  then 
swinging  around,  causing  scarcely  a  ripple,  she 
glided  away,  making  all  speed  for  the  open 
sea.  But  a  note  of  alarm  had  roused  the  ship 
to  immediate  pursuit. 

Dawn  found  tlic  Swan  flying  over  the  bil- 
lows, with  a  black  object  and  a  trail  of  smoke 
following  steadily  in  her  wake.  Evening  found 
pursued  and  pursuer  occupying  the  same  rela- 
tive position.  The  captain  kept  his  sleeples.. 
vigil,  cigar  in  mouth,  with  the  occasional  cup 
of  coffee,  his  chief  nourishment  —  every  nerve 
was  strung  to  the  highest  pitch  of  excitement, 
every  eye  and  ear  strained  for  unusual  sight  or 
sound.  "What  if  another  black  speck  appear- 
ed in  an  opposite  direction,  and  joined  in  pur- 
suit? What  if  a  shot  came  hurtling  over  the 
sea,  jind  crashed  through  the  Swans  unprotect- 
ed side  ?  The  crew  looked  worn  and  gloomy. 
Below,  Reuben  Wentzel  miglit  be  heard  invok- 
ing the  aid  of  all  the  propliets  in  his  distress. 

The  fiided  little  man  approached  the  captain. 

"If  you  wish  to  blow  up  the  craft,  I  can  do 
it.     Would  you  rather  surrender?" 

'*4Ve  need  do  neither,"  said  the  captain, 
coldly. 

At  midnight  noonday  was  longed  for  to  sight 
the  enemy,  at  noonday  the  shelter  of  dark- 
ness again.  There  she  was,  neither  gaining 
nor  losing. 

Eorty-eight  hours,  weary,  heavy  laden  with 
danger,  replete  with  the  shock  of  surprises, 
lagged  on. 

"The  barometer  is  falling,"  said  the  first  of- 
ficer, when  night  gathered  in  of  the  third  day. 
The  captain,  bleached  to  a  ghost  by  harassing 
fatigue,  straightened  himself,  and  said,  cheer- 
fully, 

"Now  for  our  chance,  men !" 

Wlien  darkness  settled  on  the  flice  of  the  wa- 
ters, the  Swan  deliberately  altered  her  course. 

"Out  of  sight!"  exclaimed  the  commanding 
officer  of  the  pursuing  I'eiviterwce,  lowering  his 
glass.  "  We  should  have  overhauled  her,  but 
for  our  heavy  armament." 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


27 


The  Peicitencee  gave  chase  hopefully,  if 
doubtfully.  It  was  no  easy  matter  to  track 
the  Sifun  on  the  high  seas. 

Dull  cloiuls  spread  over  the  heavens,  rising 
in  darker  masses  from  the  horizon.  There  was 
an  ominous  hush  of  suspense,  a  pause,  broken 
only  by  the  heaving  of  the  ocean ;  then  the 
clouds  rose  in  form  of  an  arch,  spanning  the 
sky,  and  the  rush  of  the  storm  swept  near,  with 
blinding  glare  of  lightning,  crash  of  thunder, 
and  a  mighty  tumult.  No  easy  matter,  indeed, 
to  track  the  Siran,  with  the  tossing  surges  rear- 
ing their  feathery  crests,  and  the  mist  sheeting 
her  like  a  bridal-veil. 

"  Man  is  a  worse  enemy  than  t!ie  storm," 
quoth  tlie  grim  captain. 

Lo  I  tlie  prize  was  lost ;  for  the  Sican  had 
doubled  back,  passed  the  Peicitencee  in  the 
night,  eluded  by  a  hair-breadth  the  notice  of  a 
war-vessel,  and  stolen  into  port.  The  helm 
slipped  from  the  captain's  fingers  ;  after  the 
nerve- tension  came  total  collapse.  At  that 
moment  was  revealed  what  his  iron  will  had 
compelled  the  physical  frame  to  endure  ;  the 
strong  man  fainted. 

Said  Joseph  Rost  to  Eeuben  Wentzel,  with  a 
manner  both  friendly  and  hesitating, 

"We  have  reached  om-  haven.  Let  us  bo 
fellow-laborers. " 

Reuben,  sallow  from  fright  and  illness,  had 
yet  life  interest  enough  left  to  scan  his  com- 
.panion.  Joseph  leaned  against  the  rail  idly  sur- 
veying the  town,  as  if  unaware  of  the  scrutiny. 

"  What  do  you  wish  ?" 

"Listen!  There  will  be  rare  opportunities 
to  get  diamonds  for  a  song." 

"Leave  a  Rost  alone  for  thinking  of  that," 
interpolated  Reuben,  with  a  grin. 

"Assuredly  ;  and  leave  a  Rost  alone  for  dis- 
covering the  best  places  in  advance." 

"Humph  !"'  said  Reuben,  still  on  his  guard. 

Joseph  had  never  once  looked  full  at  the 
other  during  the  conversation,  but  continued  to 
sur\'ev  the  town. 


"  Herr  Wentzel,  arc  you  to  be  trusted  ?" 

"Yes,"  rei>lied  lieuben,  unblushingly. 

Joseph  frowned  as  scornfully  as  Samuel  could 
have  done. 

"Truly,  I  have  reason  to  trust  you!" 
,     "  I  tell  thee  " — began  Reuben,  hastily. 

"  Eah  !  No  doubt  I  am  foolish  to  talk  about 
my  own  affairs ;  yet  I  need  a  confederate.  I 
am  so  young,  and  we  are  countrymen.  Surely 
we  should  work  together  rather  than  thwart 
each  other." 

"I  will  not  fail  you.  Moreover,  my  experi- 
ence may  serve.     What  is  the  business?" 

"Two  families  will  have  rare  stones  to  sell. 
What  if  I  send  you  to  one,  and  find  the  other 
myself?" 

"  Yes,"  assented  Reuben. 

Joseph  spread  a  pocket-map  on  the  bulwark, 
and  traced  a  route  up  to  the  State  of  Virginia, 
and  a  line  to  a  town  in  Kentucky.  Then  he  re- 
ferred to  a  data  in  his  memorandum-book,  and 
wrote  a  name  and  place  on  a  card,  which  he 
gave  to  Reuben. 

"Meet  me  here  in  two  months,  and  write 
me  to  the  Burkville  post-office — cautiously." 

Reuben  was  silent  a  moment.  "  Suppose  I 
do  not  find  the  family  there  ?" 

"It  is  their  homestead.  If  they  are  fugi- 
tives, trace  them ;  they  will  be  all  the  more 
anxious  to  part  with  their  jewels." 

Reuben  again  reflected,  nursing  his  chin  in 
one  palm. 

"What  good  will  I  gain  for  my  trouble  ?" 

"If  you  do  not  see,  Herr  Reuben,  no  one 
can  teach  you.  You  hesitate  ?  Don't  play  me 
false,  after  what  I  have  communicated.  Aban- 
don the  matter,  only  do  not  meddle  afterward." 

Joseph  tore  up  the  card,  scattered  the  frag- 
ments into  the  water,  and  walked  away.  Reu- 
ben continued  to  hold  his  chin,  and  think  in  si- 
lence.    Next  morning  he  said  : 

"I  will  go."  And  he  went.  Joseph  Rost's 
mental  adieu  was — "I  fear  I  shall  never  have 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  again." 


^^:^< 


CHAPTER  VII. 


THE    OLD     no  USE, 


A  CITY,  older  than  three  centuries,  stands 
a  crumbling  relic  on  the  shores  of  a  New 
"World,  and  lives  only  in  the  remote  past. 

A  warrior,  imaginative  and  romantic  ;  nay, 
more !  dreading  the  sure  approach  of  age, 
which  would  sap  the  strength  of  his  stalwart 
limbs,  sailed  over  the  seas  in  search  of  the 
crystal  waters  of  regeneration.  Ah  !  fountain 
of  youth!  Was  Ponce  de  Leon  the  only  mor- 
tal who  sighed  for  immortality? 

Thus  the  first  wave  of  European  invasion 
swept  up  to  the  unknown  shore,  which  received 
its  name — Pasena  Florida — in  honor  of  the  day, 
Palm- Sunday.  Blooming  the  paradise,  yet 
made  terrible  by  lurking  foes.  Bronze  faces 
peered  from  sheltering  thickets,  and  the  un- 
erring arrow  hissed  after  the  foreigner  as  he 
sought  roots ;  or  stealthy  canoes  darted  through 
the  still  waters  of  creeks,  when  hunger  sent  the 
explorer  to  gather  oysters. 

Instead  of  the  fountain  of  youth,  the  warrior 
met  death  from  a  poison  barb — gained  his  im- 
mortality, after  all. 

Then  the  second  wave  broke  over  the  strand  : 
a  band  of  peaceful  French  Huguenots,  seeking 
an  asylum  where  the  ghostly  reverberations  of 
St.  Bartholomew  bells  might  never  reach  them. 

Then  the  third  wave  stormed  the  land. 

Crafty  Philip  of  Spain  must  exterminate  the 
Protestant  band;  and  so  his  mail-clad  Ade- 
lantado  stepped  ashore,  from  the  galleons  an- 
chored in  the  harbor,  bearing  the  royal  stand- 
ard, and  followed  by  a  brilliant  train  of  cava- 
liers. The  Adelantado  kissed  the  Cross  pious- 
ly, then  drew  his  sword  in  the  cause  of  relig- 
ion, and  the  land  flowed  with  Huguenot  blood. 
Under  the  saint's  especial  patronage,  whose 
name  the  town  still  bears,  fortifications  were 
erected.  For  sixty  years  the  conquered  In- 
dians, whose  ancestors  roamed  the  savannas  in 
freedom,  toiled  under  cruel  task-masters,  drag- 


ging huge  masses  of  stone  to  construct  ram- 
part, glacis,  and  ditch.  Unconsciously  these 
sons  of  the  soil  built  not  only  frowning  bat- 
tlements and  massive  archways,  but  a  volume 
in  stone  that,  as  future  generations  turned  leaf 
by  leaf,  revealed  in  dark  chambers  and  wall- 
ed-up  vaults,  skeleton-strewn,  the  hideous  char- 
acter of  their  oppressors. 

Heretics  must  be  warned  off  by  moat  and 
wall  of  solid  masonry,  quoth  the  Adelantado. 

As  it  happened,  wave  the  fourth  brought 
an  incorrigible  heretic,  Sir  Francis  Drake,  who 
swooped  down  like  an  eagle  on  the  labor  of 
years. 

Then  the  fifth  wave  curled  up,  obliterating 
Saxon  rule;  restoring  the  old  dispensation, 
gloomy,  sombre,  superstitious,  and  in  that  dark- 
ness the  city  must  evermore  remain.  No  act- 
ive life  stirs  the  sluggish  pulses.  In  youth  the 
city's  garment  was  deej)ly  stained  in  blood;  in 
age  danger  sends  no  thilll  through  the  palsied 
frame. 

On  the  day  of  which  we  write,  a  young  man 
passed  through  the  narrow,  sleepy  streets  in  the 
direction  of  the  fortified  castle  beyond.  On 
either  side  the  houses  Mere  built  of  coquind 
rock,  flat-roofed,  with  wooden  galleries  and 
balconies,  while  over  the  high  garden-walls 
glimpses  of  fig  and  pomegranate  trees  M'cre 
visible. 

At  the  castle  the  stranger  paused,  not  so 
much  to  notice  the  venerable  churches  where 
old  bells  hung  which  had  tolled  the  Catholic 
Spaniards  to  prayer,  as  to  look  cautiously  about 
him.  He  had  the  appearance  of  a  person 
dreading  his  own  shadow. 

It  was  Joseph  Post,  in  no  very  happy  state 
of  mind.  A  week  before  he  had  seen  Ecuben 
Wentzel,  without  being  perceived  in  return, 
and  had  turned  his  steps  to  this  remote  region 
in  order  to  avoid  pursuit. 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


29 


On  board  the  blockade  runner,  he  had  in- 
tentionally deceived  tiiat  crafty  Jew,  and  re- 
joiced in  the  achievement. 

Reuben  could  not  have  found  any  such  fam- 
ily homestead  as  he  mentioned.  Now,  if  tiicy 
met,  it  must  be  war  to  the  knife  between  them. 
The  thorn  in  Joseph's  side  was  this  unexpected 
spy,  but  his  thoughts  never  descended  to  the 
black  depths  necessary  to  contemplate  remov- 
ing lleuben  as  an  obstacle  from  his  path.  lie 
was  not  a  great  diplomatist,  or  lie  would  have 
felt  no  such  scruples.  He  enjoyed  outwitting 
Wentzel ;  and  in  sending  him  to  the  very  heart 
of  the  war,  a  State  swept  and  desolated  suc- 
cessively by  contending  armies,  the  cliances 
were  against  his  return. 

And  here  was  Reuben  back  safe  ! 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  unfortunate. 
Better  to  have  defied  him  utterly  from  the 
first,  to  have  crushed  the  nettle  firmly,  which 
wounded  by  a  lighter  touch,  than  to  have  been 
tempted  into  this  fatal  course  of  pacification. 

A  dark  present — a  dark  future — to  return 
home  unsuccessful  ? 

The  thought  roused  Joseph  to  uncontrolla- 
ble anger ;  he  had  never  received  the  disci- 
pline of  patience.  In  bis  batile  with  the  workl, 
he  was  only  too  likely  lo  be  worsted.  In  this 
irritable  mood  the  young  man  wholly  under- 
rated his  own  ability,  and  exaggerated  difficul- 
ties. Better  this  lack  of  self-confidence,  than 
an  inflated  faith  in  himself. 

The  quiet  life  of  the  city  ebbe'd  and  flowed 
at  his  feet ;  low  marshes  and  wooded  shores 
extended  to  the  line  of  glittering  blue  Atlantic 
in  the  distance.  Joseph  was  a  stranger.  No- 
body noticed  him  in  those  strange  times,  when 
disguises  were  frequent.  The  old  city  would 
scarcely  have  elevated  its  hoary  eyebrows  in 
surprise  if  as  complete  a  transformation  liad 
occurred  under  its  venerable  nose  as  the  har- 
lequin in  the  pantomime. 

Before  many  hours  had  elapsed,  Joseph  had 
formed  his  resolution. 

It  would  require  a  keener  scent  than  that 
of  Reuben  Wentzel  to  follow  his  steps.  Af- 
terward lie  could  resume  his  own  business. 
Not  the  sliglitest  thread  had  yet  been  discover- 
ed to  the  clue  of  Grandfather  Rost's  heir-loom. 
It  would  require  more  than  a  month  of  surface 
study  in  a  large  country  to  discover  the  buc- 
caneer's descendants,  if  they  were  actually  in 
the  Southern  States  at  nil.  But  he  was  not 
discouraged  on  this  score.  He  possessed  all 
the  curious  submissive  patience  of  his  people, 
united  with  a  tenacity  of  purpose,  a  persistent 
adherence  to  one   fixed   aim   amidst   adverse 


bufi"etings,  if  need  be,  that  would  achieve  the 
end.  Call  it  obstinacy,  call  it  bravery.  It  is 
the  great  central  motive  power  wliicli,  onco 
kindled  in  men's  bosoms,  moves  tlie  machinery 
of  a  world.  The  wilderness  received  him  a 
lonely  wanderer.  No  anxious  eyes  followed 
iiim.     Ho  was  friendless  and  alone. 

Above  sparkled  a  sky  of  clearest  blue,  below 
extended  ridges  of  pine  barrens,  savannas  star- 
red with  wild -flowers,  and  shaded  tracts  of 
hummock-land,  catalpa  and,  cotton  trees,  min- 
gled with  the  waxy  fruit  of  the  candleberry- 
myrtle  by  the  way ;  and  as  the  traveler  ad- 
vanced, thickets  of  live-oak,  cedar,  and  pal- 
metto, all  interlaced  with  long,  briery  vines  and 
rank  grass,  became  more  frequent.  Occasion- 
ally an  Indian  mound  rose  above  the  monoto- 
nous level  of  the  surrounding  country.  Occa- 
sionally he  had  glimpses  of  swamps — shadowy, 
vague,  dim — where  lurked  poisonous  reptiles, 
and  the  wild  fowl  gathered  fearlessly  with  dis- 
cordant clamor,  the  blue  heron,  scarlet  ibis,  im- 
perial eagle,  and  fleets  of  cormorants  on  tho 
surface. 

He  confided  in  no  person  ;  but  simply  allow- 
ed his  horse  to  journey  on,  as  the  animal  would, 
provided  a  small  pocket-compass  was  followed. 

The  second  evening  brought  him  to  a  djkp- 
idated  cabin,  the  only  habitation  he  had  ,^en  wrij^ 
for  miles.  A  man  was  seated  on  a  log  before  ' 
the  door,  smoking  a  cob-pipe.  The  malarious 
atmosphere  of  river-banks,  rich  with  oozing  mud 
and  rank  vegetation,  had  colored  the  man's  life 
and  appearance  in  dull  yellow  and  brown  tints. 
His  slouching,  ungainly  figure,  hollowed  and 
pinched  by  poison  breathed  from  infancy,  seem- 
ed to  utter  a  feeble  protest  against  fate,  which 
inertia  counteracted.  In  garments  a  mere  shade 
removed  from  his  own  complexion,  there  the 
man  sat,  a  part  of  the  landscape.  No  beau  of 
Regent  Street,  or  the  boulevards,  ever  wore  a 
costume  more  completely  in  harmony  with  his 
person  and  surroundings,  than  were  the  butter- 
nut coat,  shrunken  trowsers,  gray  hat,  frayed 
and  worn  almost  beyond  semblance,  of  this 
early  settler. 

He  neither  moved  nor  spoke  as  Joseph  dis- 
mounted. 

"  Can  I  sleep  here  to-night  ?" 

Perfect  English,  spoken  with  a  slight  foreign 
accent. 

"  Wal,  I  dunno — ask  her,"  indicating  some 
mysterious  power  within,  by  a  gesture  of  the 
pipe. 

The  floor  of  the  cabin  was  earth,  and  fowls 
straggled  in  and  out  at  pleasure.  An  untidy, 
hard-featured  woman  sat  mending  some  rags 


30 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW, 


by  the  light  of  a  tullow-dij).  Beside  her  stood 
a  jai-  of  smilV,  into  which  she  occasionally  in- 
serted a  stick,  and  then  thrust  it  into  her 
mouth.  The  jjower  of  thought  seemed  to  have 
deserted  both,  save  for  a  sense  of  enjoyment  in 
smoking  and  dipping. 

Joscpli  repeated  his  question. 

"I  reckon  so,"  replied  the  woman. 

"And  food?"  suggested  Joseph. 

"Sakes  alive,  man!  don't  be  in  such  a  hur- 
ry. Go  tend  yer  horse  fust,  an'  I'll  be  ready 
soon's  the  boys  come." 

With  a  half  smile,  Joseph  led  his  horse  to  a 
crazy  shed. 

The  man  continued  to  gaze  into  space,  smok- 
ing stolidly. 

Two  boys  now  appeared,  one  carrying  a  rnsty 
fowling-piece,  the  other  a  wild-turkey,  and  shril- 
ly demanded  their  supper.  The  father  arose 
slowly,  yawned,  lifted  the  turkey  critically,  and 
came  to  table  unkempt  and  unwashed.  With 
this  homespun  family  Joseph  partook  of  bacon 
and  eggs,  bread  marbled  with  salcratus,  corn- 
cake,  and  molasses.  Afterward  he  was  per- 
mitted to  sleep  on  a  straw  sack  in  one  corner, 
stifled  by  the  fumes  of  burning  corn-cobs, 
placed  in  a  pan  of  coals  to  drive  away  insects. 

Next  morning  he  resumed  his  journey.  The 
woman  looked  after  him,  turning  the  money  he 
had  given  in  her  hand. 

"Some  thief,  I  reckon,"  was  her  comment. 

The  liorse  rambled  on. 

More  wild  and  lonely  grew  the  country,  and 
it  was  almost  with  a  sensation  of  surprise  at 
any  life  that  Joseph  paused  before  a  little  hut 
on  the  verge  of  the  woods  to  parley  with  the 
inmates.  The  hut  was  less  dilapidated  than 
the  cabin  Avliere  he  had  spent  the  previous 
night,  and  an  old  negro  was  chopping  wood 
near  by.  He  removed  his  tattered  straw-hat 
courteously  in  response  to  Joseph's  salutation, 
and  bade  a  grimacing  grandson  take  care  of 
the  gentleman's  horse.  Joseph  soon  obtained 
the  knowledge  he  required.  lie  could  ascend 
the  river  above,  ^\■\^h  old  Jake  acting  as  boat- 
man and  guide,  leaving  his  horse  at  the  hut. 

Once  on  the  current  of  the  stream,  they  float- 
ed past  gloomy  cypress  swamps,  past  broad,  lev- 
el savannas,  where  bird  and  insect  seemed  brill- 
iant, wandering  flowers,  rainbow-  tinted,  then 
curved  into  shadow  again.  The  dreamy,  list- 
less progress  lulled  to  repose,  the  soft  enerva- 
tion of  the  climate  stole  on  the  senses  unawares. 
It  might  have  been  that  days,  instead  of  mere 
hours,  were  slipjjing  unheeded  b}-,  even  as  the 
drops  fell  one  by  one  from  the  glistening  oar- 
blades   back   into    tlie    river.      Trout   flashed 


through  the  waters,  cat-fish  moved  above  the 
mud  bottom,  where  alligators  lurked ;  then  a 
space  of  delicately-ribbed  white  sand  a]ipeared, 
draped  by  the  waving  sedge-ribbons  and  threads 
of  aquatic  mosses. 

Suddenly  Joseph  asked  himself  the  practical 
question :  Where  was  he  going  ?  Was  he  to 
bury  liimsclf  forever  in  such  a  wilderness  to 
evade  Ileubcn  Wentzel  ? 

"  House  up  yer,"  said  the  sable  boa^lban, 
paddling  inshore,  mindful  of  tlic  cbsims  of 
hunger. 

There  stood  the  house,  half  revealed  tlirough 
the  matted  shrubbery.  Joseph's  heart  leaped 
as  he  looked  at  it.  Did  it  appeal  to  his  imag- 
ination onl}',  or  was  there  something  more  ? 

The  river  here  widened  to  a  broad  stream, 
the  ripples  breaking  musically  on  the  pebbly 
beach.  The  forest  rose  dark  and  unbroken  in 
the  background,  and  the  house  was  further 
sheltered  from  the  river  by  a  grove  of  oak  and 
I)ine  trees,  so  that  the  young  man's  first  scru- 
tiny only  discovered  toppling  chimneys  and 
projecting  roof.  The  wind  uhistled  through 
the  sere  grass,  and  murmured  overhead  with  a 
melancholy  sound.  Joseph  climbed  the  bank, 
in  his  eagerness  to  explore  the  spot,  before  the 
negro  had  beached  the  boat.  He  forced  his 
way  through  the  grove  into  a  tangled  wilder- 
ness of  garden,  choked  with  rank  weeds,  but 
blooming  with  the  splendor  of  tropical  flowers. 
A  solid  wall  of  verdure  impeded  his  progress 
here  ;  fallen  urns  and  a  broken  fountain,  moss- 
stained  from  long  contact  with  the  earth,  lay 
beyond  ;  he  thrust  aside  the  green  veil  of  a 
parasite,  and  stood  before  the  house.  There 
it  was,  wrapped  in  a  brooding  silence  in  the 
bright  day,  presenting  a  fair  front  to  the  world, 
even  in  decay,  yet  with  something  sinister 
about  it  that  would  have  arrested  the  eye,  if 
located  on  the  busiest  thoroughfare  traversed 
daily  by  the  traffic  of  busy  humanity.  If  ever 
a  house  had  a  story  to  tell,  this  one  must  have. 
It  was  built  of  time-stained  stone,  uith  an 
arched  portico,  supported  on  pillars,  sheltering 
the  sunken  entrance-door,  and  with  narrow 
casements  seeming  to  stare  blankly,  like  eyes 
robbed  of  life. 

The  stranger's  interest  was  not  attracted  at 
first  by  these  details,  nor  the  irregular  bal.- 
conies  and  dormer-windows  flanking  the  roof. 
A  niche  beneath  the  eaves  held  a  marble  fig- 
ure of  the  Virgin  Mary,  still  beautiful  in  clas- 
sical drapery,  and  forming  a  startling  contrast 
to  the  surrounding  dilapidation.  A  natural 
ladder  of  twisted  vines  led  up  to  the  niche,  as 
if  frequently  used.     An  old  mansion,  deserted, 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


31 


with  decay  sapping  the  very  foundntions,  and  The  cflect  on  tlic  woman  was  startling.  Her 
wrinkhng  its  front  witli  many  a  scam  and  dis-  features  grew  keen  and  sharjt,  as  she  whisper- 
coloration,  yet  wearing  a  marble   saint  on  its    ed,  "Did  Bernardo  send  you?" 

Surprise  jjrevented  Joseph  from  speaking. 

"Bernardo  been  gone  forty  year.  Must  be 
dead,  I  reckon,"  chimed  in  Jake. 

The  strange  creature's  eyes  blazed  wrathful- 
ly  !i  moment,  then  the  fire  flickered  out ;  she 
shrank,  aged,  drooped  hopelessly. 

"  He  said  he  would  return,"  she  muttered ; 
adding,  with  indescribable  weariness,  "I  die 
too — me  tired." 

Then  she  disappeared. 

Jake  soon  forced  an  entrance  into  the  de- 
serted house.  A  musty  odor  assailed  the  in- 
truders. Mold  everywhere  on  walls  and  ceil- 
ing, a  fungi-tapestry  in  each  crack  and  fissure 
of  the  windows  and  fire-place.  The  door  open- 
ed into  a  large  hall,  which  occupied  the  central 
]iart  of  the  building,  and  was  ornamented  with 
heavy  axe-work  and  curious  joinery.  Mas- 
sive cypress  beams  supported  the  ceiling,  a  wide 
hearth  yawned  black  and  void,  and  two  rich- 
ly-carved arm-chairs  flanked  the  hearth,  with 
foded  tatters  of  velvet  clinging  to  them,  and 
rows  of  gilt-headed  nails.  This  hall  had  evi- 
dently been  used  as  a  chief  living-room  ;  for  a 
hammock  had  rotted  from  its  fastenings  and 
fallen  in  one  corner,  a  mahogany  writing-table 
was  ink-stained,  and  held  rusted  writing-im- 
plements. 

As  the  sunlight  poured  in  a  warm,  golden 
flood  into  the  darkened  place,  former  occupants 
were  disturbed.  A  web  hung  across  the  door, 
a  castle  of  spun  silk  which  caught  the  sun-rays 
in  varying  shades  of  blue  and  pink,  .and  iu  the 
centre  rested  the  spider-ogre  in  magnificent  liv- 
ery, velvet  down  upon  his  back,  horny  limbs, 
scarlet-tipped,  and  banded,  as  if  with  the  blood 
of  victims.  Within  the  threshold  the  coiled 
folds  of  a  snake  stirred  in  pallid  and  dark  shad- 
ings, a  flattened  head  upreared,  a  forked  tongue 
protruded  with  warning  hiss,  then  glided  away 
to  obscurity. 

On  the  chimney-piece  lay  a  leather  cigar- 
case.  Joseph  lifted  it,  and  the  clasps  fell  apart. 
There  was  a  name  on  the  plate  inside,  tarnish- 
ed, but  still  legible.  Joseph  went  to  the  door 
and  studied  the  plate.  His  heart  stood  still: 
the  name  was  Frederick  William  Goff"e. 


brow ! 

A  thrill  shot  through  Josei)irs  veins. 

"  Who  lived  here  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Nobody  dis  forty  year, massa,"replicd  Jake, 
rubbing  his  white  wool  respectfully.  "  De  olc 
gemman,  he  hung  hisself,  dey  do  say." 

"  Why  r 

"  Lord  knows,  honey  !  'Spcct  his  conscience 
hurt  him.  Nobody  suspicions  round  yer  what 
he  did  or  didn't  do." 

"  Did  his  family  live  here  with  him  ?"  in- 
quired Joseph,  looking  at  the  rude  carvings  of 
the  balconies. 

"Brcss  you,  no.  He  nebbcr  lib  here  'tall. 
He  jest  come  and  go,  like  a  sperrit.  My  ole 
mammy,  she  say  he  was  de  debbil.  Scared 
dis  chile  mos'  to  defence,  comin' sudden,  when 
he  hadn't  been  seen  for  tree  year.  Bernardo 
stay  here  all  de  time.  Him  mighty  close,  neb- 
ber  say  no  word  about  ole  massa." 

Jake  shook  the  door.  He  had  no  sooner 
done  so,  than  a  figure  glided  around  the  side 
of  tlie  house  and  confronted  them  —  a  woman 
clad  in  a  cotton  gown,  old  and  wrinkled,  yet 
tall,  supple,  strong,  with  lank  gray  hair  hang- 
ing loosely  about  her  shoulders.  No  need  to 
ask  her  nationality.  The  brown  face,  piercing 
eyes,  and  prominent  cheek-bones  proclaimed 
her  a  descendant  of  the  powerful  Indian  race 
who  once  burned  aromatic  shrubs  as  incense, 
on  high  mountain  altars,  to  their  god,  the  sun, 
and  worshiped  the  springs ;  who  cultivated 
the  soil  peacefully  at  home,  while  their  women 
wove  mats  from  gay  feathers,  and  spun  simple 
garments  from  hemp  or  mulberry  bark,  but 
who  sallied  forth  bravely  to  war  abroad. 

She  leaned  on  her  stick  and  looked  at  them, 
latent  hope,  suspicion,  and  defiance  in  her  eye, 
partially  neutralized  by  the  Indian  impassive- 
ness  of  expression.  Jake  at  once  made  peace- 
ful overtures,  and  explained  that  the  gentleman 
wished  to  stop  on  the  river  for  a  few  days. 

"Where  does  he  come  from?"  demanded 
the  Indian. 

Now  the  negro  had  not  the  most  remote  idea 
where  Joseph  Rost  belonged,  nor  did  he  pos- 
sess that  active  curiosity  which  would  have  led 
his  white  brother  further  north  to  have  riddled 
the  Jew  with  a  small  shot  of  questions.  He 
pointed  in  a  northern  direction — "Up  yon- 
der." 


'  For  over  all  there  hung  a  cloud  of  fear, 
A  sense  of  mystery  the  spirit  daunted, 
And  said  as  plain  as  whisper  iu  the  ear, 
The  place  is  hanuted  T' 


CEAPTER  VIII. 


DISCOVERY. 


JAKE  plodded  about,  making  things  com- 
fortable for  the  night,  after  his  fashion, 
and  a  very  good  one  it  was.  A  fire  blazed  on 
the  broad  hearth,  shedding  a  cheerful  warmtli 
abi'oad,  while  a  thousand  airy  sparks  danced 
up  the  black  chimney  from  the  glowing  bed  of 
coals.  Joseph  stood  motionless  in  the  door- 
way fiicing  the  river.  The  negro  came  and 
went,  now  borrowing  from  the  Indian's  humble 
larder,  singing  and  soliloquizing,  now  bringing 
forth  his  own  stores,  a  frying-pan  and  provis- 
ions, for  Jake  thought  a  deal  of  creature-com- 
forts. 

"  Supper  ready,  massa,"  he  finally  said,  from 
the  now  glowing  hearth,  where  savory  odors 
steamed,  accompanied  by  mysterious,  hissing, 
bubbling  sounds. 

The  young  man  did  not  respond,  but  stood 
as  if  carved  out  of  stone. 

Jake  stared,  chuckled  a  negro,  oily  laugh, 
and  tasted  a  bit  of  crisp  bacon  surreptitiously. 
"Ain't  yer  gwine  to  eat  yer  supper,  honey?" 

Josej)h  turned  quietly,  as  if  some  spell  was 
broken,  thrust  the  case  into  his  pocket,  and 
came  forward. 

The  meal  was  primitive,  and  taken  on  the 
floor,  the  chairs  being  far  too  rickety  to  trust 
with  their  weight.  Jake  withdrew  respectful- 
ly to  the  farther  corner  of  the  heart!),  much 
amazed  at  Joseph's  entire  rejection  of  the  bacon. 

"  Who  was  Bernardo  ?"  inquired  the  young 
man,  abruptly. 

"He  be  Yankee;  ask  so  many  questions," 
thought  Jake,  deeply  interested  in  his  supper  ; 
but  he  answered, 

"  Bernardo  olc  gemmen's  servant.  lie  hang 
hisself,  and  Bernardo  go  'way  next  day.  Nev- 
er seen  no  mo'." 

"  A  Spaniard  or  Italian  ?"  suggested  Joseph. 

"  Some  sort  o'  furriner,  massa  ;  dat  is,  he 
be  Minorcan.     Slightly  select,  sah,  dem  IMiuor- 


cans ;  lib  and  marry  by  demsclvcs  always. 
Lord  !  what's  dat  ?" 

A  sound  rolled  and  reverberated  through 
the  upper  story  of  the  house,  causing  Jake  to 
clutch  his  plate  nervously,  and  become  rigid 
with  terror.  Joseph  cocked  his  j)istol  and  list- 
ened intently.     The  noise  gradually  died  away. 

"  We  will  see  what  it  is." 

"  Oh  !  no,  massa,  not  in  de  dark,"  implored 
Jake,  growing  ashy  gray  with  fear. 

"  To-morrow,  then,"  assented  Joseph. 

He  insisted,  however,  on  exploring  the  lower 
floor,  and,  taking  a  pine  torch,  led  the  way. 

The  hall  formed  a  square  room  in  the  centre 
of  the  house,  with  a  door  on  each  side.  These 
doors  they  tried  successively,  and  found  them 
fastened  within.  In  the  i-ear  means  of  egress 
were  easy.  At  the  end  of  a  paved  passage, 
they  found  themselves  in  a  sort  of  court,  form- 
ed by  three  sides  of  the  building,  with  a  stone 
flight  of  steps  leading  to  the  second  story,  and 
a  gallery  extending  the  length  of  the  house. 

Day  had  long  since  waned.  A  light  burned 
in  the  ruined  fragment  of  a  detached  kitchen,' 
where  the  Indian  woman  lived,  and.  through 
the  aperture,  once  a  window,  she  was  plainly 
visible.  A  highly-colored  picture  of  some  mar- 
tyr hung  on  the  wall,  wreathed  in  artificial 
flowers,  such  as  are  used  to  adorn  altars ;  be- 
fore it  stood  a  large  ivory  crucifix,  mounted  in 
silver,  and  two  candles  in  massive  candlesticks. 
The  Indian  knelt  in  rapt  devotion,  slijiping  a 
rosary  of  pink  coral  through  her  fingers.  The 
faith  of  her  ancestors  had  been  replaced  in  her 
breast  by  a  passionate  Catholicism.  She  would 
have  killed  any  one  who  robbed  her  of  her 
treasures,  and  she  made  candles  from  waxy 
fruits  in  the  forests,  to  adorn  her  altar.  In  all 
that  did  not  pertain  to  her  religion  her  attitude 
was  expectant :  she  watched  for  one  who  nev- 
er came. 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


33 


Joseph  Rost  ascended  llie  steps,  and  peeved 
along  the  weird  gallery,  Jake  following,  timor- 
ously protesting,  yet  afraid  to  remain  behind. 

"We  shall  sleep  better  if  we  look,"  said 
Joseph,  and  so  the  flaring  torch  made  the 
rounds.  Everywhere  were  traces  of  desolation 
and  neglect.  Numerous  small  rooms  opened 
on  the  gallery,  vacant  and  unfurnished.  Bats 
darted  in  noiseless  flight  about  them,  skim- 
ming like  shadows  in  the  twilight  of  the  long 
gallery. 

"'ypcct  it  was  a  bird,  or  sufin,"  said  Jake, 
re-assured  as  they  descended  the  steps. 

The  Indian  had  extinguished  her  candle ;  the 
darkness  was  becoming  palpable ;  and  a  low, 
sad  sound  smote  the  ear,  like  the  blending  of 
the  wind-rustling  foliage  and  the  half-articu- 
late moan  of  creatures  in  the  swamps.  Twi- 
light lurked  in  the  forest's  leafy  depths,  wove 
a  dark  mantle  from  tree  to  tree,  moved  stealth- 
ily among  the  trailing  garden-vines,  seemed  to 
screen  gliding  terrors  of  the  wood  in  deeper 
hollows  of  obscurity.  The  light  lingered  soft- 
ly on  the  river's  surface  in  violet  and  gold, 
paling  to  gray,  and  was  at  last  folded  in  the 
universal  night. 

An  overwhelming  homesickness  crept  over 
the  young  man.  He  seemed  to  be  no  longer 
in  the  same  world  with  those  he  loved.  They 
decided  to  spend  the  night  in  the  hall.  Jo- 
seph, wrapped  in  his  cloak,  on  one  side  of  the 
fire,  and  Jake,  indifferent  to  covering  as  long 
as  his  head  was  nearly  in  the  coals,  on  the  oth- 
er. While  making  these  preparations,  Joseph 
noticed  the  clock  for  the  first  time.  It  was 
3 


an  old  time-piece,  fitted  in  the  wall  above  the 
cliimney,  and  the  pendulum  had  stopped  on  the 
stroke  of  one.  Around  the  margin  were  let- 
ters printed  in  India  ink — "A  good  clock,  if 
regularly  wound  up,  and  never  moved." 

The  negro  heaped  on  fresh  fuel,  stretched 
himself  luxuriously  on  the  floor,  and  was  soon 
fast  asleep.     The  Jew's  brain  was  more  active. 

In  fleeing  from  Ileuben  Wentzel,  he  had  dis- 
covered a  clue  to  his  own  secret.  How  much 
of  a  one  ?  A  name,  simply.  Who  was  the  old 
gentleman  ?  Who  Avas  Bernardo  ?  Above  all 
other  considerations,  why  were  the  two  doors 
locked  ? 

Long  he  lay  revolving  these  matters  in  his 
mind,  gazing  wakefully  at  the  shadows  in  the 
dim  corners  of  the  large  apartment,  at  the 
patch  of  ruddy  crimson  on  the  ceiling  reflected 
by  the  fire,  counting  the  strokes  of  the  death- 
watch,  which  ticked  monotonously  in  the  crum- 
bling  wall,  and  listening  to  the  regular  snore 
of  the  negro,  a  human,  cheerful  note  in  that 
lonely  spot.  Finally,  almost  unexpectedly,  wea- 
riness mastered  his  excited  senses,  and  he  sank 
into  a  dreamless  sleep. 

He  awoke  with  a  violent  start.  A  cold  per- 
spiration bedewed  his  fofehead  ;  a  great  horror 
and  awe,  indefinable,  but  terrible,  oppressed 
him.  Stirred  by  a  current  of  dread,  the  hair 
of  his  flesh  stood  up,  while  an  icy  touch  grasp- 
ed his  heart.  The  negro  had  not  awakened. 
The  fire  was  a  castle  of  fiery  splendor,  with 
fantastic  peaks  and  flaming  arches.  Yes,  and 
the  clock  icas  going. 

There  teas  some  one  in  the  room  ! 


CHAPTER  IX. 


PEGGY   S    FORTUNE. 


A  YEAR  before  Joseph  Rost  left  his  liome, 
a  very  small  house  on  the  cliff's  of  the 
shore  of  another  continent  displayed  a  light  only 
in  the  kitchen  window  one  evening.  Beyond 
a  wide  stretch  of  beach  the  town  sloped  down 
to  a  harbor,  and  the  inmates  of  this  house  were 
obliged  to  cross  the  sands  to  reach  it.  On  this 
particular  evening  the  little  house  had  a  lone- 
ly and  friendless  look,  away  off  there  by  itself, 
near  the  closed  gates' of  a  large  property,  yet 
not  a  porter's  lodge,  with  the  rain  dashing 
against  the  windows  in  chill  gusts,  and  the  sea 
murmuring  below. 

Within  doors  not  a  sound  broke  the  stillness 
except  the  ticking  of  the  kitclien  clock.  Be- 
side the  table,  where  the  lamp  was  placed,  sat 
a  gaunt,  hard-featured  old  woman,  with  her 
iron-gray  hair  screwed  up  into  an  uncompro- 
mising little  knot  at  the  back  of  her  head,  and 
a  half-knitted  stocking  lying  in  her  lap.  She 
was  entirely  forgetful  of  her  neglected  work 
and  the  storm  outside.  On  the  table  she  had 
spread  a  pack  of  cards,  arranged  in  a  half  cir- 
cle, after  the  fashion  of  fortune-tellers ;  but  at 
this  moment  she  seemed  to  have  drifted  away 
from  contemplating  them,  and  sat  gazing  ston- 
ily at  the  opposite  wall.  The  expression  of 
her  face  changed  as  rapidly  as  shadows  rip- 
ple over  the  surface  of  a  pond — eager  anxiety, 
dreamy  triumph,  sharp  pain,  succeeding  each 
other,  while  her  eyes  appeared  contracted,  as 
of  one  with  an  introverted  vision.  Clearly  she 
was  in  a  psychological  condition,  verging  on 
clairvoyance. 

A  slender  girl  appeared  on  the  threshold, 
yawned  as  if  from  a  period  of  cramping  in- 
action, and  looked  at  the  woman  with  saucy 
amusement.  Then  a  second  girl,  smaller  and 
darker,  joined  the  first  one,  and  they  exchanged 
significant  glances. 


"Peggy  sees  a  ghost,"  whispered  the  taller 
sister,  trijiping  across  the  kitclien. 

"  We'll  not  go  on  like  this  always.  There's 
a  change  coming — a  great  change.  Ethel  won't 
stay  moping  here  forever." 

The  sisters  were  startled.  Often  had  they 
seen  their  old  Peggy  poring  over  the  cards,  but 
never  like  this.  The  voice  seemed  that  of  anoth- 
er person. 

The  smaller  girl  stepped  quickly  to  her  side, 
and  placed  one  firm  little  hand  on  her  shoul- 
der, inquiring, 

"  Peggy  dear,  what  is  the  matter  ?  Are  you 
dreaming?" 

The  woman  gasped,  or  sobbed,  several  times, 
blinked,  and  resumed  her  knitting  as  if  by  a 
strong  effort  of  will. 

"I  was  not  asleep,  children.  I  calculate  I 
saw  a  leetle  ways  beyond  this  kitchen,  though." 

The  small  girl  compressed  her  lips  in  a  pe- 
culiar way  of  her  own  when  displeased.  The 
other  one  asked,  carelessly, 

"How  is  the  Queen  of  Hearts  to-night?" 

Peggy  smiled,  and  resumed  her  natural  man- 
ner. 

"The  Queen  of  Hearts  has  happiness,  and 
plenty  of  money  in  the  end,  but  there's  trouble 
between.  Olive  ma}'  laugh.  Of  course  it's 
mighty  smart  for  young  folks  to  laugh  at  their 
elders.  I  never  drew  three  aces  together  in 
all  my  born  days  that  a  surprise  didn't  come 
before  twenty-four  hours." 

"  I  am  glad  I  come  out  all  right  in  the  end, 
like  the  story-books,"  said  Ethel,  moodily  gaz- 
ing at  the  lamp,  and  rumpling  the  masses  of 
her  golden  hair. 

Peggy  and  the  quiet  little  sister  Olive  re- 
garded her  wistfully.  Ethel  had  been  a  prob- 
lem from  her  birth.  The  noblest  developments 
of  the  human  soul  are  not  alwavs  made  in  the 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


wide  arena  of  God's  world ;  for  in  tliis  humble 
country -kitchen  these  two  women,  sister  and 
servant,  would  have  yielded  the  best  portion  of 
their  lives  to  make  that  of  Ethel  happy. 

"  The  Queen  of  Clubs  has  something  on  the 
road,  too,"  pursued  Peggy,  tracing  her  way 
around  the  magic  circle  with  one  long,  bony 
forefinger  and  a  disengaged  knitting-needle. 

"How  does  she  end?"  asked  the  little  sis- 
ter, demurely. 

"I  do  not  see  the  end," returned  Peggy,  so- 
berly, pushing  tlie  cards  hastily  into  a  heap. 

For  years  the  family  in  the  cottage  had  been 
divided  thus :  Mrs.  Hearn,  Queen  of  Diamonds ; 
Olive,  Queen  of  Clubs;  Ethel,  Queen  of  Heart?  ; 
and  Nicholas  Hearn,  Knave  of  Hearts.  Peg- 
gy allowed  herself  no  place  at  all  in  this  book 
of  fate. 

These  girls  had  spent  the  evening,  as  they 
did  many  of  their  young  lives,  sitting  in  a 
hushed  room,  afraid  to  disturb  the  slumbering 
mother  by  the  rustle  of  a  book-leaf,  and  dread- 
ing the  moan  of  pain  which  would  bring  her 
back  to  consciousness  again. 

"  The  Queen  of  Hearts  will  give  a  party 
when  she  is  a  great  lady,"  said  Ethel,  resting 
her  elbows  on  the  table  in  a  comfortable,  if  un- 
graceful, attitude.  "  There  shall  be  an  awful- 
ly grand  dinner  first — such  as  the  mighty  ones 
around  here  give,  and  we  have  the  pleasure  of 
snifiing  at  a  respectful  distance — and  a  ball  af- 
terward. Peggy  shall  come  with  the  best  of 
them.  I  think  I  shall  wear  pink  velvet  and 
diamonds.  Perhaps  Cinderella  iu  her  glass 
slippers  will  be  an  honored  guest.  One  is  as 
probable  as  the  other — heigh-ho!" 

"You  may  have  all  that,  and  not  the  moth- 
er," said  Olive,  tenderly. 

The  latter  possessed  one  of  those  divine  gifts 
of  suggestiveness  of  blessings  enjoyed,  when 
comparison  seems  about  to  create  unhappiness. 

"God  knows  I  don't  want  it  without  her," 
retorted  Ethel,  quickly,  tears  rushing  to  her 
eyes. 

"  The  young  birds  leave  the  nest ;  it's  na- 
tur',"  said  Peggy,  dryly. 

Ethel  roamed  to  the  window,  pressed  her 
face  to  the  panes,  and  looked  out  into  the  dark, 
stormy  night.  AVas  her  future  to  be  as  dark 
as  that  ? 

Something  of  Peggy's  superstition  infected 
her  charge.  As  Ethel  Hearn  looked  out,  a  cu- 
rious circumstance  occurred.  A  face  formed 
out  of  the  obscurity  on  the  other  side  of  the 
pane.  She  started  back  with  a  faint  scream. 
The  face  disappeared,  and  a  knock  on  the  door 
succeeded. 


The  stranger  beheld  a  girl  of  amazing  beau- 
ty ;  her  face  framed  in  a  shimmer  of  soft  hair, 
her  cheek  slightly  flushed  with  excitement  at 
some  vague  expectation,  and  her  eyes  glowing 
like  luminous  stars.  The  world  is  full  of  such 
surprises  ;  glimpses  of  a  loveliness  whose  fame 
would  last  a  century  hidden  beneath  a  sun- 
bonnet.  He  looked  at  her  attentively,  as  any 
one,  man  or  woman,  must  have  done ;  but  he 
was  a  gentleman,  and  did  not  prolong  the  scru- 
tiny to  a  stare. 

"Pardon  my  intrusion ;  but  can  you  tell  me 
why  the  Raines's  place  is  deserted  ?" 

The  little  sister  first  recovered  from  the  sur- 
prise incident  to  receiving  a  visitor  at  that 
hour  and  seasoji  of  the  year.  Peggy,  the  avow- 
ed guardian  of  the  household,  who  scoiTed  at 
"noises,"  and  openly  defied  vagrants,  stood 
dumb. 

"  The  Raines  family  have  been  absent  in  Eu- 
rope for  years,  I  believe.  The  servants  may 
have  gone  to  the  town  to-night,"  said  Olive. 

"They  are  careless  to  leave  the  place,"  re- 
joined the  gentleman,  abruptly.  "Do  that 
class  keep  late  hours  in  the  town,  may  I  ask  ? 
If  so,  I  suppose  I  may  have  the  pleasure  of  sit- 
ting on  the  door-step  until  they  return." 

"I  am  sorry  you  should  be  inconvenienced. 
Our  parlor  is  at  your  disposal,  sir." 

"  Thanks.  Perhaps  I  may  be  able  to  effect 
a  burglarious  entrance  into  my  own  dominions, 
if  you  will  lend  me  a  lantern." 

Evidently  past  the  romance  of  youth,  or  a 
chat  with  the  inmates  of  the  cottage,  a  possible 
glimpse  of  the  beauty  again  might  have  been 
considered  more  enlivening  than  forcing  an  en- 
trance into  a  dark  house.  But  having  outlived 
that  delightful  period,  the  stranger  thought  far 
more,  with  wet  clothes  and  muddy  boots,  of  a 
good  cigar  and  glass  of  wine  in  his  own  house, 
than  all  the  pretty  girls  in  Christendom. 

Peggy  stood  rigidly  by  the  door,  lamp  in 
hand,  her  eyes  following  every  movement  of 
the  gentleman  like  a  basilisk.  It  therefore  de- 
volved on  Olive  to  kindle  the  lantern  for  him. 
A  fretful  groan  was  heard  in  an  upper  cham- 
ber. How  suggestive  it  was !  Plow  quickly 
it  explained  the  shadow  on  the  little  house  ! 

"  Dear  me  I  Have  you  illness  here  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Raines,  with  real  concern. 

"My  mother  is  always  ill,"  said  Olive,  with 
a  quiver  in  her  voice. 

"  I  am  sorry.  Can  nothing  be  done  ?  Have 
you  the  best  medical  advice  ?"  What  a  good 
face  it  was !  sharp-featured  and  plain  enough, 
but  firm  and  self-reliant. 

"  The  best  the  town  aftbrds." 


3G 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


Then  he  departed,  and  as  he  plodded  along 
throngh  the  darkness  he  soliloquized  : 

"  I  wonder  where  they  came  from  !  I  don't 
remember  seeing  them  before.  How  the  old 
woman  glowered !  Considered  me  a  wolf 
among  her  lambs,  I  suppose.  She  is  quite  right 
to  guard  them." 

When  he  had  gone,  Ethel  emerged,  showing, 
from  her  proximity,  that  slic  had  lent  ear  to 
the  conversation. 

"  You  mean  thing !  to  leave  me  in  the 
lurch,"  said  Olive,  with  playful  severity. 

"  Caught  in  the  kitchen  !"  snapped  Ethel. 

"  Peggy,  if  ever  I  was  ashamed  of  you,  it  was 
tonight,"  continued  the  little  sister.  "Did 
you  never  see  a  gentleman  before,  that  you 
must  stand  and  gape  at  him  in  that  fashion  ?" 

"  I've  seen  him  before,"  said  Peggy,  with  pe- 
culiar emphasis. 

"When?" 

"An  hour  ago.  I  didn't  think  he'd  come  so 
soon.  I  should  hev  knowed  him  this  side  of 
the  grave.  There  was  a  cloud  yonder,  beyond 
the  light,  and  his  face  grew  and  grew  out  of  it, 
until  it  was  as  plain  as  yourn.  He's  come  for 
our  Ethel." 

"  Then  he  may  go  away  again,"  cried  Ethel, 
tossing  her  graceful  head  with  all  the  arrogance 
of  youth.  "  I  shall  not  marry  a  small,  stumpy 
creature  with  gray  hair  and  a  long  nose,  thank 
you.     No,  not  for  all  the  diamonds  in  creation." 

"  Very  well,  I  dare  say  he  does  not  mind  ; 
he  has  not  asked  you  yet,"  said  the  little  sis- 
ter, calmly.  ^ 


Ethel's  defiance  collapsed.  To  be  sure,  he 
had  walked  off  when  he  might  have  remained, 
and  talked  with  her. 

"  Now,  Peggy,  you  must  be  well  scolded. 
What  did  you  cat  for  your  dinner  ?" 

*'  Lord  !  I  dunno.  A  bite  of  what  you  had, 
I  s'pose." 

"Let  mc  tell  you  it  must  be  indigestion,  or 
you  never  could  have  such  nightmare  visions. 
If  you  go  on  like  this,  I  will  steal  your  snuff- 
box, and  throw  it  away.     There  !" 

It  was  droll  to  see  this  wise  little  woman 
scold  her  great  Peggy,  and  afterward  pack  her 
off  to  bed,  whither  she  prepared  to  go  quite 
meekly.  Ethel  stood  trifling  with  a  chain 
about  her  throat. 

"Where  did  you  get  that,  child  ?"  asked 
Peggy,  making  a  pretense  of  trimming  the 
candle  in  order  to  secure  her  snuff-box  on  the 
shelf,  against  possible  raids. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  show  it.  I  should  like 
to  know  what  could  remain  concealed  in  this 
house.  I  found  it  in  the  mother's  desk  to- 
night." 

She  drew  forth  a  gold  cord  with  a  pendant 
attached.  This  pendant  was  a  beryl  of  oval 
shape,  framed  in  dull  yellow  gold,  and  having 
these  Persian  characters  exquisitely  engraved 
on  the  stone  : 


CHAPTER  X. 


BERNARDO. 


"/^AN  I  find  shelter  here?" 

v>'  "If  you  wish  to  enter,  you  will,  I  sup- 
pose.    We  are  only  women." 

"Madame,  for  that  reason  I  would  not  in- 
trude. But  observe,  this  is  the.  last  point  of 
safety,  and  in  crossing  the  hill  I  shall  probably 
meet  my  death  in  a  shower  of  minie-balls." 

"Enter  then,  by  all  means,"  said  the  lady, 
solemnly,  resuming  her  work,  a  bit  of  cambric, 
which  might  be  crimsoned  with  her  own  blood 
before  completion. 

It  was  surely  the  most  primitive  habitation 
to  which  a  stranger  was  ever  invited — a  burrow 
in  the  side  of  the  hill.  A  central  tunnel  ran 
from  the  entrance  to  the  rear  of  the  cave, 
where  two  passages  branched  on  either  side, 
thus  aflfording  sleeping  accommodation,  and  ad- 
ditional protection  from  the  steady  rain  of  shot 
and  shell  that  fell  all  day.  The  place  was 
damp  and  unwholesome ;  from  time  to  time 
little  rills  of  soft  earth  crumbled  from  the  ceil- 
ing and  walls  warningly,  and  moisture  trickled 
along  the  floor.  Beetles  trotted  in  crevices, 
and  a  elimy  worm,  rightful  possessor  of  this 
dim  subterranean  world,  slid  and  twined  into 
view  occasionally. 

The  young  man  who  had  sought  refuge  there 
stood  just  within  the  entrance;  the  lady  oppo- 
site keeping  a  sunny-haired  child  forther  back; 
while  an  older  woman  crouched  in  the  darkest 
corner,  silently  wringing  her  hands.  Sudden- 
ly she  darted  forward  and  accosted  the  young 
man. 

"What  are  you  doing  here  with  women? 
Why  are  you  not  helping  to  sweep  away  our 
enemies?  A  deserter!  sickened  by  the  scent 
of  powder.  A  spy !"  She  looked  at  him  with 
flashing  eyes,  and  accompanied  her  scornful 
words  by  a  gesture,  as  if  she  Avould  have  spurn- 
ed him. 


The  younger  lady  made  no  comment ;  yet 
in  her  more  gentle  face  might  have  been  read 
contempt  also. 

"What  would  you  have  me  do?"  asked  the 
young  man,  mildly.  "It  is  not  a  war  of  my 
making.     I  have  not  a  friend  on  either  side." 

"Then  why  are  you  here?"  demanded  the 
old  woman,  imperiously,  looking  at  the  smoke 
filling  the  lower  atmosphere,  with  hatred  and 
vengeance  depicted  on  her  weary  face. 

"I  am  here  for  you  to  tell  me  if  Bernardo 
died  in  this  city  thirty-nine  years  ago  ?" 

If  a  shell  had  exploded  in  the  cave,  the  ef- 
fect could  not  have  been  more  wonderful.  Her 
gaze  wandered,  her  features  contracted ;  she 
put  her  hand  to  her  forehead  and  recoiled  a 
step.  The  younger  woman  laid  down  her  work 
and  stepped  forward  to  her  side. 

"Thou  hearest,  Maddalena?" 

"Truly,  my  great -uncle,  Bernardo,  died 
then,"  said  the  young  woman,  crossing  herself 
rapidly. 

"He  was  his  own  master,"  added  the  old 
woman,  recovering  herself.  "  If  he  lived  years 
away  from  us,  he  was  a  good  brother  all  the 
same.  What  is  it  to  thee?"  the  passionate 
Minorcan  blood  beginning  to  rise  in  the  with- 
ered cheek. 

Joseph  Rost  bit  his  lip  to  repress  the  exulta- 
tion he  felt  at  this  information.  He  was  saved 
the  necessity  of  a  reply.  The  blithe  little 
child,  unconscious  of  danger,  and  tired  of  the 
restraints  of  tlie  gloomy  prison,  had  availed 
herself  of  the  absorption  of  the  others  to  creep 
along  the  passage  and  dance  out  into  the  sun- 
shine. A  bubbling  laugh  of  perfect  glee  warn- 
ed them  of  her  escape.  There  stood  the  little 
figure,  white -robed,  flossy  curls  wind-blown, 
poised  airily  on  one  tiny  foot,  innocently  fiicing 
death — death  everywhere. 


38 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


The  city  was  besieged.  Great  iron  balls 
screamed  through  the  air  as  if  tossed  by  giants, 
and  the  earth  reverberated  with  the  concussion 
of  heavy  explosions  ;  but  the  town  received  the 
storm  in  sullen  silence,  and  would  not  yield. 

The  mother  stood  a  moment  petrified,  then 
uttering  a  piercing  shriek,  rushed  out. 

"Stay,  I  will  go,"  cried  Josejjh,  forcing  her 
back. 

In  the  mean  while  the  child  danced  on,  cast- 
ing mischievous  glances  backward,  and  only 
tlying  faster  when  she  saw  Josejih  start  in  pur- 
suit. 

"Me  go  home;  tired  of  dat  clc  hole;"  the 
childish  voice  sounded  sweet  and  clear  in  the 
lull  of  the  bombardment. 

Life  was  very  precious  to  the  Jew  at  that 
moment ;  he  was  on  the  eve  of  success.  War 
kindled  no  glow  of  excitement,  but  rather  cur- 
dled the  blood  in  his  chilled  veins.  He  look- 
ed to  the  right  and  the  left,  gasped  once,  and 
dashed  on.  A  rushing  sound  filled  the  air, 
succeeded  by  a  roar,  a  shock,  and  Joseph  was 
thrown  violently  on  his  face.  Staggering  to  his 
feet  unharmed,  he  saw  the  child  running  back, 
calling  pitcously  for  her  mother.  He  caught 
her  in  his  arms,  and  crept  behind  a  rock  just  as 
a  second  shock  made  the  earth  tremble.  Then 
he  flew  back  to  the  cave  with  his  precious  bur- 
den. The  child  laughed  as  she  w'as  restored 
to  the  trembling  mother. 

This  event  changed  the  current  of  hostility  to- 
ward the  stranger  into  fervid,  impetuous  grati- 
tude ;  he  had  risked  his  own  life  for  the  child. 
The  young  mother  wept  and  kissed  his  hands  ; 
the  old  aunt  embraced  him ;  then  she  held  up 
her  crucifix  for  Joseph  to  salute,  swearing  that 
he  meant  no  harm  in  his  questions  about  Ber- 
nardo, But  here  the  curious  conflict  of  races 
jarred  unexpectedly.  To  the  terrified  women, 
indeed  to  all  the  contending  hosts  battling  for 
possession  of  the  town,  the  Cross  was  an  em- 
blem of  salvation.     Joseph  Rost  put  it  aside. 

"I  am  an  Israelite.  My  faith  difters  from 
yours.  I  will  swear  that  I  meant  no  harm  to 
Bernardo's  family." 

"  You  have  saved  the  child,  you  shall  hear. 
We  are  Minorcans,  but  we  have  never  seen 
our  home  beyond  the  seas.     Our  Others  were 


cruelly  deceived  by  Sir  Nicholas  Turnbull,  who 
founded  our  colony.  We  never  mingled  with 
Spaniards  or  English  ;  we  were  one  family. 
Now  it  is  diflferent.  My  niece  here  is  married 
to  an  American.  Bernardo  was  a  sailor  from 
choice.  Once  there  came  a  ship,  and  he  ran 
away  to  it.  After  that  he  was  true  as  steel  to 
his  master,  and  made  many  voyages." 

"  The  master  was  a  pirate,"  said  Joseph. 

"Madre  de  dios !  since  you  know  so  much, 
there  is  little  need  of  my  knowledge,"  she  said, 
her  mobile  features  gathering  wrath  again. 

Then  she  stalked  back  to  her  dark  recess, 
where  her  brilliant  eyes  gleamed  in  the  obscu- 
rity, A  negro  boy  came  running  over  the  hill, 
and  paused  at  the  entrance  breathlessly. 

"  IMassa  George  safe  dis  mornin'.  AVe  git 
up  pretty  soon.  Golly!  de  cow  gon?.  She 
feedin'  in  de  hollow,  an'  a  ball  come  taKC  her 
clean  off"  her  legs.  No  milk  for  little  missy  no 
mo'.  De  sojers  cut  her  up  with  swords  in  no 
time  'tall.  JLighty  hungry  down  yonder  keep- 
in'  guard," 

E.xposure  to  the  vicinity  of  deadly  missiles 
had  made  the  boy  reckless.  Indeed,  groups 
of  negroes  gathered  around  in  a  circle  at  night, 
listening  to  the  recital  of  narrow  escapes,  the 
ludicrous  incidents  of  the  previous  day,  with 
the  keenest  sense  of  humor.  Each  day  the 
boy  coolly  built  a  fire  on  a  ledge  in  the  ravine 
below,  and  cooked  the  family  dinner,  such  as 
it  was,  for  the  place  was  becoming  straitened 
for  provisions.  The  enemy's  aim  was  nearly 
sure  to  fly  over  the  ravine,  but  in  passing  from 
this  improvised  kitchen  to  the  cave,  he  ran  the 
gauntlet. 

"Dis  chile  got  sufin,"  he  grinned,  display- 
ing a  portion  of  the  slaughtered  cow  triumph- 
antly.. The  faces  of  the  besieged  brightened 
in  anticipation  of  an  unusual  feast. 

The  boy  stood  on  the  brink  of  the  ravine  one 
instant ;  the  next,  that  ominous  hissing  sound 
cut  the  air  from  a  new  quarter  :  he  threw  up 
his  arms  in  silent  agony  and  disappeared. 

Then  followed  a  rattling,  grinding,  rumbling 
noise  ;  the  top  of  the  hill  broke  off"  and  slid 
down,  a  mass  of  loose  sand  and  stones  cover- 
ing the  mouth  of  the  cave.  They  were  buried 
alive.  * 


CHAPTER  XL 


HOW  TUE  CITY  WAS  TAKEX. 


THE  city  was  located  on  a  commanding 
heiglit,  and  was  bnilt  street  above  street, 
broken  by  neglected,  sandy  spaces,  and  fre- 
quent ravines.  Toward  the  east,  bluffs  sur- 
mounted it,  which  commanded  the  river  north 
and  south. 

"  I  can  laugh  my  enemies  to  scorn.  The 
mighty  river — a  stem  yellow  and  turbid,  down 
among  the  sedges  of  the  coast,  is  a  flower,  un- 
folding petal  within  petal  of  beauty  as  it  ap- 
proaches me — winds  in  a  silvery  current  at  my 
feet,  and  is  my  friend  and  protector.  Will  not 
the  waters  overflow  ?  ^Vill  not  the  deadly 
swamps  breathe  pestilence  to  invaders,  suffo- 
cate them  in  quicksands,  poison  them  with 
reptiles  lurking  in  obscurity  ?  I  am  safe ;  I 
can  defy  a  continent."  Thus  reasoned  the 
city,  fringing  her  garments  with  rifle-pits,  jind 
donning  her  armor  of  defense. 

Her  conquerors  reasoned  otherwise. 

She  was  the  one  impregnable  fortress  on  the 
stream.  She  was  the  magazine  for  the  riches 
flowing  from  tlie  veins  of  rice  and  cotton  pro- 
ducing Statcfs.  Thousands  of  troops  diverged 
from  her  over  the  land.  She  7nust  be  taken. 
In  justice  to  the  city  must  it  be  said  that  she 
left  no  measure  untaken  to  verify  her  boast. 
The  air  rang  with  the  hammers  of  foundries ; 
stately  trees  fell  to  serve  for  breastworks  ;  hos- 
pitals warned  of  an  approaching  necessity ;  the 
banks  were  drilled  for  marksmen  to  sweep  the 
decks  of  passing  vessels  ;  the  bluff  bristled  with 
cannon.  Tlieu  the  commander  bade  the  wom- 
en and  children  go  forth. 

"Never  !"  shrieked  the  women,  with  hyster- 
ical patriotism,  and  sent  up  their  flannel  petti- 
coats to  the  commander  to  be  used  in  the  am- 
munition, an  offering  on  the  altar  of  country. 
Old  Maddalena  was  foremost.  Patriotism  was 
intensified  into  enthusiasm  by  her  Southern 
temperament. 


One  day  a  gun-boat  came  around  the  bend 
of  the  river,  fluttering  a  wliite  signal. 

No  surrender  I  was  the  defiance  hurled  back 
at  the -peaceful  messenger  from  the  fortified 
heights. 

There  sat  the  city,  wearing  her  tiara  of 
bristling  bayonets,  with  the  river  at  her  feet. 
Hours  elapsed,  and,  when  the  sunset  crimsoned 
the  river's  face,  a  fleet  was  visible  coming  down 
stream.  What  did  it  mean  ?  Simply  this  :  a 
vessel  appeared  below,  and  glided  toward  tlie 
town.  She  might  have  been  a  wreck,  for  any 
sign  of  life  she  gave ;  not  a  soul  was  visible  on 
her  deck.  In  a  channel  half  a  mile  wide,  past 
a  bank  lined  with  rifles  below  and  guns  above, 
she  made  her  way  silently,  boldly.  An  elec- 
tric flash  crackled  along  the  shore,  balls  of 
flame  broke  on  her  iron  sides,  columns  of  spray 
spouted  from  the  seething  waters,  yet  she  kept 
steadily  on.  The  shot  might  burst  on  her  de- 
serted deck,  rattle  against  her  steel  ribs ;  she 
would  reach  the  point  above,  and,  with  one 
grand  broadside  poured  into  the  batteries,  dis- 
appear behind  the  trees.  Afterward  the  can- 
nonade commenced — the  heart  of  sultry  sum- 
mer, when  life  fainted  in  the  pulseless  atmos- 
phere, with  fiery  cloudless  sky  above,  and  bra- 
zen, molten  river  below. 

By  day,  the  crash  of  shells  exploding  in  the 
very  streets,  and  the  bitter  retort  of  shore-bat- 
teries beneath  the  sweltering  sun.  By  night, 
the  fog  creeping  along  white  and  chill,  and,  in 
tlie  silence  of  exhausted  nature,  the  melancholy 
chirp  of  birds  distinctly  audible;  while  the  city 
was  mute,  and  the  bombarding  fleet  lay  at  an- 
chor on  the  motionless  current. 

In  the  mean  while  a  Thing  was  floating  down 
the  sluggisli  River  of  Death  above.  It  was 
neither  steamship  nor  raft,  yet  partook  of  the 
nature  of  both.  Huge  logs  of  timber,  suffi- 
ciently green  to  resist  fire,  were  linked  togeth- 


40 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


er  in  an  unwicUlly  mass ;  iron  plates  sheathed 
it,  funnels  breathed  black  smoke.  A  bogy — a 
terror  in  the  darkness,  an  anomaly  in  the  light. 
The  fleet  formed  a  chain  to  grapple  with  it. 
Forthwith  the  Thing  stretched  forth  one  mass- 
ive paw,  and  a  vessel  sank.  With  engines  crip- 
pled, but  by  sheer  force  of  size  and  strength, 
the  monster  rent  a  passage  through,  and  was 
anchored  beneath  the  city's  guns.  Oh  the 
terrible  glow  of  cloudless  sky  and  reflecting 
waves  !  Oh  for  a  breath  of  jiure  air,  keen 
with  frost  and  hail  I 

At  length  the  fleet  withdrew  slowly,  and  the 
city's  heart  beat  high  with  triumph.  Was  she 
saved  ?  Or  was  she  only  allowed  a  respite  in 
which  to  heal  her  wounds  and  strengthen  her 
position  ? 

There  was  need  to  gird  herself  for  the  tem- 
pest gathering! 

It  was  during  this  period  of  inaction  that 
Joseph  Rost  left  the  old  house,  which  had  curi- 
ously enough  served  him  the  double  purpose  of 
concealment  and  discovery,  and  made  his  way 
across  the  country.  Once  drawn  into  a  region 
which  had  become  a  net-work  of  rival  armies, 
his  safest  course  would  have  seemed  to  have 
sought  refuge  in  the  fortress  city,  whose  posi- 
tion was  well-nigh  inaccessible.  But  Joseph 
Rost  had  another  motive.  The  old  house  had 
revealed  a  clue.  The  barred  doors  had,  in 
spite  of  the  Indian's  jealous  vigilance,  admit- 
ted him,  in  part,  to  their  shadowy  secrets.  He 
came  to  the  fortress  city  to  learn  if  Bernardo 
was  dead ;  for  not  a  doubt  remained  in  his 
mind  that  the  IMinorcan  servant  had  possessed 
himself  of  the  master's  wealth  and  departed 
with  the  booty.  He  dared  not  reflect  on  the 
extent  of  the  robbery.  Might  not  the  heir- 
loom have  disappeared  wholly,  even  if  in  the 
buccaneer's  possession  at  the  date  of  his  death? 
In  the  warmest  flood  of  noonday  a  shudder 
crept  over  him  at  the. remembrance  of  the 
night  spent  before  the  fire.  Holding  the  one 
frail  thread  he  had  discovered,  it  drew  him 
straight  to  the  abode  of  Bernardo's  relatives, 
whither  he  had  gone  forty  years  before. 

The  Indian  woman  patiently,  dumbly  waited. 

The  Jew  sifted,  thought,  moved  rapidly ; 
but  when  he  reached  the  city  he  found  him- 
self besieged.  He  would  have  ample  leisure 
to  trace  Bernardo  before  he  again  escaped 
from  it. 

A  daring,  impetuous  general  had  approached 
the  line  of  blufts  without  awaiting  re-enforce- 
ments ;  had  waded  through  marsh  and  wind- 
ing bayou  with  desperate  valor,  and  thrown  his 
troops  straight  on  the  hidden  foe.     The  hill- 


side burst  into  a  storm  of  flame  from  deep- 
mouthed  cannon,  and  the  line  of  attack  roll- 
ed back  torn,  bleeding,  dying.  Again  the  city 
waved  her  banner  victoriously.  She  would  be 
the  citadel  around  which  clustered  the  growth 
of  a  new  Government. 

This  happened  four  months  before  Joseph 
Rost  arrived ;  but  with  his  advent  another 
man  was  approaching,  far  more  important  than 
our  Jew.  The  river  was  the  city's  guardian. 
Grandly  it  emerged  from  the  distance,  and, 
swecjiing  onward,  gathered  the  tribute  of  many 
small  streams,  like  the  monarch  it  was  —  not 
only  gathered  their  tribute,  but  swayed  so  ab- 
solute a  rule,  that  in  wayward  temper  of  des- 
potism it  surged  back  into  tliem,  overflowing 
the  face  of  the  country,  making  it  a  dreary 
waste  of  bog,  lake,  and  fen.  The  general  sur- 
veyed the  scene,  and  thousands  of  workmen 
scooped  a  trench  which  should  divert  tlie  river 
from  its  channel,  leaving  the  city  stranded — an 
inland  town. 

A  pause  of  intense  anxiety  ! 

Would  the  river  indeed  turn  into  the  new 
channel  ?  The  ripple  of  a  wave,  the  rude 
breath  of  a  wind,  might  decide  the  question. 
Then  the  majestic  stream  crumbled  a  frail 
dike,  flooded  the  half-finished  work,  and  rush- 
ed on  in  scorn  at  the  pigmy  eff"orts  of  man  to 
curb  its  turbulent  current.  Undaunted  by  fail- 
ure, the  general  next  proceeded  to  create  a 
rival  river,  as  it  were.  Might  not  two  lakes 
be  connected,  and  form  a  chain  with  small  riv- 
ers, by  clearing  shallows,  felling  trees  for  a 
distance  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  and  a 
new  stream  be  formed  parallel  with  the  old  ? 
Now  a  steamer  paddled  down  the  open  route, 
where  never  steamer  ventured  before.  Would 
the  river  favor  the  enterprise,  and  flow  through 
this  fresh  outlet  ?  Alas  !  no.  True  to  its  al- 
legiance with  the  fortress  city,  it  withheld  its 
waters  and  passed  on.  Then  the  general  tried 
the  same  plan  with  a  lake  on  the  other  side  of 
the  great  unconquerable  giant,  hoping  to  form 
a  connection  with  the  winding,  sluggish  bay- 
ous, thus  reaching  the  city  in  the  rear.  Again 
steamers  cautiously  paddled  where  the  light 
Indian  canoe  had  never  attempted  to  penetrate 
the  labyrinth,  guarded  by  the  low,  sweeping 
branches  of  sycamore  and  cypress,  shielded  by 
blackened  roots,  interwoven  with  knotted  coils 
of  fibrous  vines,  defended  by  a  battery  to  face 
which,  whirled  by  the  eddies  of  dangerous  cur- 
rents, was  certain  death, 

AVith  a  persistence  which  nothing  could 
thwart,  the  general  formed  a  third  plan. 

Gun-boats  boldly  pushed  their  way  through  a 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


41 


maze  of  creeks,  to  gain  a  position  behind  the 
fortifications.  The  venture  was  fraught  with 
peril.  Cutting  tlieir  way  through  sombre  for- 
ests, where  enemies  perpetually  Iiovered  to  dis- 
pute the  advance,  their  course  impeded  by  the 
crash  of  falling  trees,  their  retreat  threatened 
in  the  same  way,  the  waters  ebbing  ever  more 
shallow  beneath  the  keel,  at  length  the  invaders 
had  to  turn  back  to  escape  capture  in  an  un- 
known wilderness. 

Joseph  Kost,  arrived  in  the  city,  wa^  subject- 
ed to  some  narrow  scrutiny,  which  conld  not 
elicit  any  suspicious  circumstance,  and  sought 
shelter  for  the  night  in  a  humble  tavern. 
Sleep  visited  the  inhabitants ;  the  horrors  of 
siege  were  forgotten.  At  midnight  dark  mass- 
es of  shadow  floated  down  the  river.  Did  lynx- 
eyed  sentinels  see  nothing  ?  Yes.  Simulta- 
neously the  guns  awoke  the  echoes,  and  shiv- 
ered the  calm  silence  of  night.  Josejjh  Rost 
sprang  from  his  bed  and  rushed  into  the  street. 
Scarcely  had  he  escaped  when  a  ball  sped 
through  the  tavern,  and  the  wooden  frame 
collapsed  like  a  house  of  cards.  Frightened 
groups  of  people  ran  hither  and  thither  help- 
lessly ;  the  fire  from  the  boats  was  raking  the 
very  spot  where  they  stood. 

"What  has  happened  ?"  asked  Joseph. 

The  needful  answer  came.  A  light  of  in- 
tense splendor  flashed  on  one  of  the  hills  above, 
illuminating  the  scene.  The  beacon-fire  threw 
a  lurid  glow  over  the  city  roofs,  revealed  the 
gunners  stooping  low  behind  their  ramparts, 
and  rested  on  the  river  in  a  wide  effulgence. 
There  were  the  war  vessels  coming  down  in  a 
line,  sheltering  with  their  iron  mail  three  fleet 
transports.  Night  was  turned  to  day.  They 
could  not  escape  the  careful  aim  of  eight  miles 
of  guns. 


A  murmur  went  up  from  the  town. 

In  the  midst  of  the  excitement,  Joseph  Rost 
saw  an  old  woman  fall  on  her  knees  and  mur- 
mur a  prayer  in  Spanish.  It  was  INIaddalena, 
lie  did  not  lose  sight  of  her  again. 

Down  rushed  the  boats.  Tlie  first  transport 
received  a  death-blow,  wavered,  drifted  dis- 
abled, and  was  towed  beyond  danger  by  the 
sheltering  gun-boat.  The  next  flushed  rosy 
red ;  the  cotton  protecting  her  boilers  had 
caught  fire.  Transfigured  into  a  ship  of  flame 
she  seemed  ;  then,  the  brief  glory  of  conflagra- 
tion past,  shriveled  to  the  water's  edge.  Then 
the  rest  swept  triumphantly  on.  Next  morning 
the  city  questioned  the  measure  in  vain.  The 
commander  haughtily  repelled  advice,  and  a 
chill  doubt  for  the  first  time  thrilled  through 
every  heart. 

Joseph  Rost  speedily  learned  that  the  old 
woman  was  a  Minorcan,  and  had  icsided  there 
for  many  years. 

Rumor  flew  on  every  breeze.  What  would 
be  the  point  of  attack?  From  uj)  the  river, 
surely.  Hark !  Even  the  crack  of  artillery 
already  promised  it.  Still  rumor  flew,  the  city 
hesitated,  and  the  delay  was  her  ruin.  At  any 
time  the  commander  might  issue  proudly  forth, 
and  join  his  forces  with  veteran  soldiers  mus- 
tered miles  away  to  rout  the  enemy.  What  if 
the  foe  marched  so  rapidly  that  tliis  junction 
was  prevented.     That  is  what  he  did. 

The  storm  of  war  was  battering  at  the  city's 
stronghold  before  she  realized  it.  From  the 
highways,  bordered  by  hedges  of  roses  and 
cane,  where  the  houses  and  sugar-mills  gleam- 
ed, deserted,  among  the  avenues  of  shrubbery — 
from  the  morass,  and  bayou,  and  forest,  came 
the  winding  train  of  army,  bugle  peals  awaken- 
ing the  echoes  of  victory. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


IN   THE   CAVE. 


WHEN  tlic  accident  occurred,  tlie  besieged 
were  speechless  for  a  few  seconds  in  that 
oi)pressive  darkness.  Horror  paralyzed  them. 
The  child  first  recovered  sufficiently  to  sob  qui- 
etly. This  roused  the  mother,  who  crawled  to 
the  entrance  and  began  to  push  at  the  obstruc- 
tion with  two  feeble  hands.  Old  Maddalcna 
was  silent.  Joseph  seemed  passive  from  a  very 
confusion  of  thought.  How  should  he  escape  ? 
— first  thought ;  then  he  followed  .inother  still 
darker  in  its  selfisliness.  He  crept  through 
the  darkness,  and  touclied  Maddalena  on  tlie 
shoulder. 

"Tell  me  what  I  wish  to  know  about  Ber- 
nardo before  I  attempt  our  release." 

After  a  sullen  pause, 

"What  do  you  wish  to  know?" 

"Did  he  bring  gold  to  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Jewels?" 

"Yes." 

Josejih  caught  his  breath ;  he  forgot  tliat  he 
was  buried  in  a  cave.  It  was  the  ruling  pas- 
sion strong  in  death. 

"He  did  not  give  them  to  me;  they  are 
gone,"  said  the  old  woman,  quickly. 

Josejili  laid  a  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"Must  I  remind  you  that  I  have  saved  the 
child  once?  Must  I  tell  you  that  I  am  going 
to  try  to  unearth  us  now  ?  You  saw  the  gems, 
at  least,  and  I  wish  them  enumerated." 

By  this  time  the  young  woman  had  ceased 
her  helpless  groping  at  the  entrance,  and  cauglit 
the  drift  of  the  conversation. 

"Holy  St.  Francis  I"  she  cried;  "shall  we 
perish  while  you  talk?  How  long  can  we 
breathe  in  this  hole  ?  When  will  the  roof  fall 
and  crush  us?     Tell  him  quickly — any  thing." 

Thus  adjured,  old  ^laddalena,  who  never 
supposed  tliat  Beriiardu's  riches  were  lawfully 


gotten,  and  feared  that  Joseph  had  some  claim 
on  them,  said  reluctanth-, 

"A  ruby  necklace;  an  emerald  and  pearl 
cross;  a  diamond  ring." 

"Ani/  thing  more?^' 

"Nothing." 

Joseph  turned  without  a  word,  and  began  to 
attack  the  mass  of  rubbish  blindlj'  and  reck- 
Icssh-.  It  seemed  as  if  he  could  not  wait  to 
overcome  the  obstacles  in  the  way  before  pur- 
suing his  search.  He  did  not  heed  the  boom 
of  guns,  the  dead  and  dying  about  him.  One 
motive  alone  impelled  the  young  man.  Oh, 
if  he  had  never  left  the  old  house  until  he  had 
torn  it  down  piecemeal !  He  hurled  himself 
against  the  debris,  but  it  might  well  have  served 
as  resisting  fate.  Finally  he  recoiled,  spent 
and  breathless.  They  were  buried  away  from 
sun  and  air,  with  human  beings  moving  above 
them. 

"  If  I  had  a  spade  or  a  crowbar  !"  he  groan- 
ed, wiping  the  perspiration  from  liis  brow. 

The  women  were  ready  with  an  expedient  — 
a  broomstick.  Inserting  this  into  tlie  mass,  he 
discovered,  after  penetrating  a  few  inches,  a 
large  rock  filling  the  mouth  of  the  cave.  Jo- 
seph pushed  against  it  with  his  shoulder;  it 
did  not  yield.  Then  he  felt  around  the  edges 
with  the  broomstick  ;  there  was  a  space  at  one 
side  corresponding  with  a  jagged  edge  of  the 
stone.  The  young  man  worked  patiently  at 
this  opening ;  it  was  their  one  hope ;  through 
it  they  might  breathe,  if  the  broom  reached  far 
enough ;  for  he  could  not  push  his  own  body 
into  any  aperture  because  of  the  rocky  ledge. 

With  intense  anxiety  the  women  watdied 
his  progress.  The  stick  met  Avith  no  obstacle 
in  the  soft  earth.  After  a  time  he  drew  it  back 
cautiously  ;  there  was  a  noiseless  dropping  of 
soil  above,  obliterating  the  end  of  the  slender 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


43 


tunnel ;  but,  oh  joy  !  a  ray  of  light  darted  into 
the  cave  like  a  friendly  messenger  of  hoi)e,  fol- 
lowed by  a  current  of  pure  air.  Each  of  the 
women  ia  turn  placed  their  mouths  at  the  open- 
ing, eager  for  air;  after,  the  child;  then  sub- 
sided into  dull  endurance  of  their  captivity. 
Joseph  did  not  dare  to  make  the  opening 
larger,  fe.aring  to  shatter  the  precious  rift. 

Thus  the  displacement  of  a  few  soil-parti- 
cles preserved  the  lives  of  four  persons,  and 
a  further  dislodgment  of  a  handful  of  earth 
would  occasion  death.  Joseph  shouted.  No 
reply.  So  faint  a  cry  from  the  depths  of  the 
hill  was  not  likely  to  attract  attention. 

'•By-and-by  we  shall  not  be  able  to  appeal," 
said  old  ]\Iaddalena,  with  grim  suggestivcness. 

In  turns  they  occupied  the  opening  and  im- 
plored aid.  At  last  the  light  beyond  the  hole 
faded ;  it  was  night.  No  thought  of  hunger 
had  visited  them  yet.  Now  the  child  wailed 
for  food.  Old  Maddalena  remembered  a  taper, 
and  a  feeble  yellow  ray  flickered  in  the  dismal 
l)lacc.  Another  horror  confronted  them — there 
was  no  water !  A  cup  of  cold  coflee  quenched 
the  child's  thirst ;  for  the  rest,  privation. 

With  desperation  Joseph  recommenced  his 
cries  at  the  opening.  The  enemy's  fire  had 
ceased,  and  the  towns-people  were  no  longer 
confined  to  their  burrows  like  wild  animals. 

To  think  of  the  morrow  brought  a  shudder 
of  sickening  apprehension ;  they  dared  only  to 
live  in  the  agonizing  possibility  of  the  present. 
With  the  two  women  there  was  a  measure  of 
relief,  after  frantic  ravings,  in  tears  and  prayers. 
The  child  fell  asleep.  For  Joseph  Rost  there 
was  no  such  refuge.  His  eyelids  began  to  swell ; 
lights  danced  and  whirled  when  he  closed  tliem ; 
his  tongue  was  parched  in  his  throat.  He  was 
obliged  to  exert  the  most  strenuous  self-con- 
trol to  turn  his  thoughts  back  from  contempla- 
ting the  horrors  of  suffocation.  He  was  forced 
to  bite  his  lips  to  keep  from  shrieking  aloud 
and  going  mad.  Was  it  imagination,  or  did 
the  atmosphere,  robbed  of  all  vitality,  grow 
dense  with  a  grave -like  chill?  Were  they 
panting  for  breath  under  an  oppression  which 
threatened  every  moment  to  check  respiration? 

Old  Maddalena  flung  herself  on  the  ground 
and  beat  her  head  passionately  against  it. 
Then  she  lay  very  still. 

"  Help,  help  !''  called  Joseph,  in  hoarse,  de- 
spairing tones. 


A  faint  echo  responded  :  "Where  arc  you?" 

"  Here,  buried  in  the  cave." 

Snatching  up  the  expiring  taper,  the  young 
man  held  it  to  the  crack  ;  the  gleam  was  visi- 
ble through  the  accumulated  rubbish.  The 
voice  promised  assistance.  Then  they  waited, 
minutes,  hours,  days,  it  seemed,  the  young  wom- 
an and  Joseph  looking  at  each  other  speech- 
lessly, with  every  nerve  strained  to  listen.  Old 
Maddalena  and  the  child  were  indifferent ;  both 
were  sinking  into  stupor.  A  distant  sound 
greeted  their  keenly-strung  senses,  then  fol- 
lowed in  quick  succession  strokes  of  spades. 
The  mother  laughed  deliriously.  Joseph  look- 
ed at  the  roof  apprehensively,  for  at  any  time 
the  friendly  efibrts  without  might  convert  the 
cave  into  their  tomb. 

Lanterns  flashed  over  a  group  of  negroes 
and  whites,  thrilled  with  ready  sympathy,  and 
in  the  midst  was  the  bent  form  of  a  little  man 
with  greenish-gray  eyes,  who  had  first  discov- 
ered the  catastrophe. 

Cautiously  the  de'bris  was  scooped  away,  con- 
sisting of  crushed  flowers,  torn  branches,  and 
shattered  rock.  The  unwieldy  stone  blocking 
the  entrance  at  last  yielded  to  the  united 
efforts  of  Joseph  within  and  those  outside. 
First  the  senseless  forms  of  a  woman  and  child 
were  unearthed ;  next  emerged  the  young  moth- 
er, who  had  borne  her  sufferings  patiently,  but 
now  flung  wide  her  arms  in  a  rapture  of  free- 
dom, and,  oddly  enough,  with  sudden  fierceness 
cursed  the  enemies  who  had  brought  these  af- 
flictions. Joseph  Rost  followed,  and  met  Reu- 
ben Wentzel.  They  stared  at  each  other  like 
ghosts. 

"  You  here  !"  exclaimed  Reuben. 

"  We  have  endured  the  same  siege,  it  seems," 
returned  Joseph. 

He  had  leaped  one  barrier,  and  here  was 
another. 

The  first  duties  were  to  restore  IMaddalena 
and  the  child,  repair  the  cave  for  the  mis- 
siles of  another  day,  and  accept  food.  Jo- 
seph took  a  cup  from  the  officious  Reuben's 
hand,  and  overturned  it  in  the  grass  afterward. 
The  released  family  stretched  themselves  on 
the  slope  to  enjoy  the  freedom  night  usually 
gave. 

"I  will  see  you  to-morrow,"  said  Reuben, 
significantly. 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Joseph. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


DAWN. 


DAY  came  in  pale,  tremulous  pencilings  of 
light  on  the  horizon,  in  cold  glimmerings 
radiating  the  valleys,  and  the  women  searched 
for  Joseph  Kost,  who  had  disappeared.  Old 
Maddalena  feared  suicide  or  an  accident,  and 
was  more  than  half  disposed  to  resent  the  con- 
tinued absence  of  their  protector  of  the  cave, 
ro  curiously  are  people  brought  together  in 
war.     But  Joseph  Rost  never  returned. 

He  had  not  committed  suicide,  yet  he  had 
taken  a  step  scarcely  less  rash.  He  seemed  so 
near  tlic  fulfillment  of  his  pi'oject,  that  it  was 
easier  to  evade  Reuben  Wentzel  once  more 
than  to  contend  Avith  him.  Reuben  was  not 
sufficiently  reckless  to  shoot  him  in  cold  blood, 
Joseph  reasoned,  but  in  that  storm  of  bullets 
might  not  a  chance  one  bring  him  low  ?  Bet- 
ter to  risk  fleeing  to  the  enemy's  lines.  Better 
to  risk  finding  a  way  through  them,  than  to 
stay  in  the  city  like  a  penned  sheep. 

Joseph  escaped  in  this  wise :  a  log  drifted 
down  the  stream,  hugging  the  shore  so  close 
that  the  words  of  the  sentinels  could  be  heard, 
and  guided  by  a  man  swimming.  He  reach- 
ed a  low  protected  spot  safely,  drew  the  log 
ashore,  and  untied  from  it  a  bundle  of  clothes, 
in  which  he  dressed  himself. 

The  dawn  glowed,  flushed,  brightened  into 
the  promise  of  perfect  day.  Never  had  the  fu- 
ture looked  so  hopeful.  To  return  home  re- 
spected and  honored  for  his  success !  To  be 
equal  with  Samuel !  To  see  Benjamin  again 
— perhaps  find  Rachel  unwedded. 

The  tempest  broke  with  tenfold  fury  that 
day.  On  one  side  stubborn  despair ;  on  the 
other  cool,  persistent  bravery.  Gone  was  the 
early  dewy  freshness  of  morning,  quenched  in 
the  fiery  breath  of  battle,  which  rolled  a  heavy, 
sulphurous  cloud  up  the  hill-side,  with  gleams  of 
color,  and  flashes  of  light  shimmering  through. 


Joseph  Rost  was  swept  away  like  a  feather. 
Retreat  or  advance  were  alike  impossible.  The 
tumult  came  unexpectedly.  Quickly  climbing 
a  tree  to  avoid  being  trampled  by  the  charging 
regiments,  he  scanned  the  scene. 

A  baleful  smoke  canopy  obscured  the  blue 
heavens,  and  hung  low  over  ranks  of  dead, 
mown  down,  over  crippled  chargers,  over  pain 
in  every  shape  possible  to  strong  men  smitten 
low.  Down  rained  the  blighting  fire  of  shells 
and  balls ;  a  perpetual  whistling  sound  hissed 
past  Joseph's  ears,  as  he  crouched  close  to  the 
tree.  Who  was  victor  in  the  tangled  heaps 
surging  to  and  fro  ?  There  was  a  rushing  noise 
heard  above  the  roar  of  cannon ;  it  reached 
even  the  dulled  ear  of  the  wounded.  What 
was  it?  a  wind — a  rising  storm?  Tiie  smoke 
rolled  back  up  the  hill  toward  the  masked  bat- 
teries on  the  summit.  The  rushing  noise  was 
the  advance  of  the  pursuing  column,  sweep- 
ing over  all  obstacles,  charging  under  a  galling 
fire,  broken,  reeling,  reunited,  and  pressing  on. 
What  had  happened? 

Only  a  tree  fallen,  snapped  in  twain,  into  the 
hollow,  carrying  with  it  Joseph  Rost,  mortally 
wounded. 

He  lay  helpless  and  alone.  His  couch  was 
tender  green  verdure,  with  delicate  waxy  flow- 
ers starring  the  turf,  just  as  if  beyond  the  curv- 
ing rim  there  was  no  carnage  and  strife.  Jo- 
seph, passive  and  faint,  wondered  if  he  was  to 
be  obliterated  by  an  inundation  of  blood,  or  left 
in  peace.  He  longed  for  human  aid,  then 
dreaded  the  form  in  which  it  might  come.  He 
had  deserted  the  city  in  her  need,  and  she  was 
avenged.  The  shot  had  come  from  the  battery 
above.  The  wounded  man  had  no  idea  of  the 
lapse  of  time ;  he  only  realized  that  all  had 
grown  quiet  about  him ;  the  battle  was  ebbing 
awav  in  indistinct  mutterings.     Gradually  he 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


was  lifted  and  floated  far  away  by  the  transitioii 
incident  to  a  mental  condition  which  made  no 
change  startling  or  improbable.  The  struggle 
of  fierce  passions  merged  into  peace.  He  saw 
the  tabernacle  shrouded  in  a  heavy  silii  cur- 
tain. Large  candles  burned  on  the  reading- 
desk,  where  lay  the  book  of  the  Law,  and  be- 
fore tlie  desk  stood  Benjamin,  clad  in  a  woolen 
mantle  richly  embroidered  with  crimson  and 
gold.  The  delicate,  beautiful  face  was  np- 
turned,  and  shone  with  unearthly  radiance  ;  he 
touched  the  book  reverently  with  the  corners 
of  his  Thalis,  and  his  voice  fell  like  the  melo- 
dy of  harps  on  Joseph's  ear : 

"Blessed  be  Thou,  oh  Lord!  Kuler  of  the 
world,  who  hast  blessed  us  above  all  other  peo- 
ple, aud  hast  given  to  us  the  Law." 

Then  the  tabernacle  crumbled,  and  Benja- 
min, rising  from  glory  to  glory,  was  lost  in  the 
immensity  of  heavenly  distance. 

A  sharp  thrill  ran  through  Joseph's  veins ; 
tlie  throbbing  in  his  side  was  there  again ;  the 
remnant  of  life  surged  to  his  brain.  A  man 
was  kneeling  beside  him  with  a  canteen  of 
water. 

Joseph  Rost  and  Nelson  Thorne  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes. 

The  stranger  wore  an  officer's  uniform,  torn 
and  blood-stained.  lie  was  young  and  hand- 
some, with  a  terrible  gravity  in  the  tense  lines 
about  the  mouth.     Joseph  sipped  the  water 


held  to  his  parched  lips  gratefully,  eagerly  gaz- 
ing at  his  companion  the  while.  Tiie  black 
Hebrew  eyes  searched  the  honest  Saxon  blue 
ones,  which  had  been  sleepy  and  tender,  but 
were  now  steady,  clear — a  trifle  hard.  The 
ollicer  asked  no  questions  ;  it  was  too  late. 
He  had  discovered  a  perisliing  creature,  and 
held  a  drauglit  to  the  dying  lips.  That  was 
all. 

"  Take  tlie  book  from  my  breast,"  whispered 
Joseph.     The  officer  obeyed. 

Joseph  sighed,  and  closed  his  eyes. 

"I  am  a  stranger  —  a  foreigner  —  on  busi- 
ness," 

Suddenly  he  looked  around  and  paused.  A 
wild  light  of  anger,  doubt,  and  agony  broke 
over  the  dying  face.  Creeping  along  the  edge 
of  the  hollow  was  pursuing  Eeuben  Wentzel, 
goaded  on  by  eager  hatred,  driven  back  by 
mortal  terror.  Joseph  raised  himself  on  his 
elbow,  and  cried,  "  Hunted  to  the  death  !  Keep 
the  book,  it  belongs  to  me  alone.  Never,  nev- 
er let  him  touch  it !  He's  a  thief,  a  spy.  The 
poor  Wentzels."  (Inexpressible  contempt, 
even  at  the  end.)  "I  trust  you,"  and,  falling 
back,  expired. 

Joseph  the  Jew  was  like  the  old  Italian  art- 
ist, who  wrought  a  crystal  bowl  with  a  life's  la- 
bor, and  then  accidentally  broke  it. 

Reuben  Wentzel  knelt,  and  repeated  a  Ra- 
desch  for  the  dead. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
Joseph's  pocket-book. 


THE  officer  would  liave  buried  the  book  in 
Joseph  Host's  grave  had  he  not  feared  dis- 
interment by  Reuben  Wentzel,  wliom  he  was 
disposed  to  regard  in  the  light  of  a  jackal.  In- 
deed, the  hungry  keenness  of  Herr  Wentzel's 
face  was  against  his  chances  of  success  with  a 
candid  mind. 

Tlie  dead  youth's  clothing  was  carefully 
searched  for  some  clue  to  his  identity,  a  search 
rewarded  only  by  the  name  of  Host.  Return- 
ing to  camp,  the  officer  seated  himself  on  a 
tree  stump  and  drew  forth  his  meerschaum. 
What  should  he  do?  Open  the  dead  man's 
book  ?  How  else  could  he  discover  his  home  ? 
A  man  was  brought  to  him  by  the  sergeant : 
Reuben  "Wentzel  prepared  to  make  a  final 
struggle  for  the  possession  of  Joseph's  secret. 

"Doubtless  you  are  an  honest  gentleman, 
and  will  do  what  is  right.  The  book  belongs 
to  me,  and  my  dead  brother,"  he  began. 

"Was  the  dead  man  your  brother?"  de- 
manded the  officer,  sharply. 

Reuben  shot  one  sidelong  glance  at  him,  and 
replied,  unhesitatingly, 

"Yes." 

The  officer  puffed  a  cloud  of  smoke  from  his 
]jipe  before  he  said,  with  military  brevity, 

"False.  Your  name  is  Wentzel,  his  was 
Rost.  You  may  go.  I  shall  keep  the  pocket- 
book." 

Reuben  grew  pale,  and  twisted  his  beard. 

"What  if  I  demand  it?" 

"When  you  show  me  that  you  have  a  right 
to  claim  it  I  will  listen  to  you.  Sergeant,  take 
him  back." 

Left  alone,  the  young  man  unfolded  the 
leather  book,  with  Joseph's  last  words  ringing 
in  his  ear — "  I  trust  you." 

Touched  by  the  confidence,  he  soliloquized, 

"Poor  fellow!  I  will  prove  myself  trust- 
worth  v." 


The  pocket-book  had  the  name  of  Joseph 
Rost  inscribed  on  the  fly-leaf;  but,  with  a 
cucious  degree  of  caution,  it  would  seem,  was 
without  city  or  country. 

"Joseph  Rost,  citizen  of  the  world,"  observed 
the  officer,  turning  another  leaf. 

A  fresh  puzzle.  The  book  was  full  of  notes 
— mere  memoranda  jottings,  which  would  be 
suggestive  to  the  writer  alone  —  in  five  lan- 
guages: here  two  lines  of  English,  there  a  doz- 
en in  Danish,  here  a  paragraph  in  Spanish, 
there  a  page  of  French  or  German.  In  a 
pocket  were  the  papers  of  Grandfother  Rost 
and  the  directions  for  Samuel's  journey,  writ- 
ten in  Danish,  and  therefore  unintelligible  to 
the  officer.  In  addition,  there  was  a  letter 
folded  in  an  envelope,  but  not  directed.  The 
officer  felt  that  on  the  clear  translation  of  this 
letter  depended  the  discovery  of  the  dead  man's 
relatives.  Acting  on  his  first  impulse,  he  in- 
closed the  package  to  one  of  his  professors  at 
college  in  the  North,  requesting  a  legible  in- 
terpretation. Had  he  been  at  all  aware  of  the 
value  of  the  papers  to  himself,  he  would  scarce- 
ly have  risked  allowing  them  to  pass  out  of  his 
possession. 

Before  the  answer  came,  the  fortress  city 
had  struck  her  flag  and  yielded  to  her  conquer- 
ors, and  with  her  fell  the  fabric  of  rebellion. 
The  officer's  regiment  was  still  quartered  out-' 
side  the  town  when  the  reply  arrived.  The 
letter  read : 

"I  can  now  send  home  tidings  of  my  suc- 
cess. I  have  been  here  five  months,  and  am 
about  to  grasp  the  prize.  Could  Samuel  have 
done  better?  I  have  met  Reuben  Wentzel 
here,  whom  we  all  despise.  The  rencontre 
was  unfortunate.  I  deceived  him  as  to  my 
real  object.  He  tracked  me  again,  and  would 
have  inevitably  discovered  the  secret  by  watch- 
ing, me  had  I  not  eluded  him.     To  do  this  I 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


47 


struck  into  the  wilderness  of  savannas  and  ; 
everglades,  where  I  decided  to  stay  at  the  most 
retired  house  I  could  find  for  a  time.  Under 
the  guidance  of  a  negro,  I  discovered  an  old 
mansion  on  the  river's  bank,  ten  days' journey 
on  horseback  from  the  city  on  the  coast.  The 
place  had  been  deserted  for  forty  years,  yet  a 
cigar-case  on  the  chimney-piece  had  a  name 
on  it — '  Frederick  William  Gofi'e.'  Tliis,  then, 
must  have  belonged  to  the  buccaneer  mention- 
ed by  my  grandi'ather,  as  having  robbed  him 
of  the  necklace.  I  determined  to  search  the 
place  thoroughly  for  further  information,  and 
then  prepared  for  the  night's  repose. 

"In  vain  I  had  reasoned  with  myself  that 
the  deserted  house  was  only  dreary  and  ghost- 
ly from  long  disuse.  There  was  something 
significant  in  its  very  desertion.  The  negro 
slept  beside  the  fire,  and  I  soon  followed  his 
example.  I  was  aroused  by  a  deadly  fear  such 
as  I  had  never  experienced  before.  Tiie  jilace 
was  infused  with  a  new  atmosphere.  With 
that  I  discovered  a  change ;  the  door  behind 
me  was  wide  open,  and  through  it  stepped  an 
old  man.  He  walked  slowly  to  the  hearth, 
without  apparently  noticing  the  negro  or  my- 
self. There  was  nothing  terrible  in  his  ap- 
pearance, as  he  stood  gazing  thoughtfully  at 
the  fire ;  the  chilling  fear  he  inspired  was,  that 
I  knew  he  did  not  belong  to  this  world.  He 
was  tall  and  angular,  he  wore  a  curious  olive- 
green  coat  of  a  past  generation,  and  a  silk 
scarf  was  knotted  in  the  most  peculiar  fashion 
around  his  neck,  with  the  ends  trailing  on  the 
ground  behind  him.  He  drew  through  his 
hands,  half  absently,  a  glittering  object.  Sure- 
ly if  I  had  not  been  paralyzed  I  should  have 
i^prung  to  my  feet ;  it  was  my  grandfather's 
necklace. 

"  Flashing  before  my  eyes  with  a  thou- 
sand rainbow  reflections,  quivering  in  broken 
stars,  in  limpid  ripples  of  light,  as  he  thread- 
ed it  through  his  fingers  or  laid  it  caressingly 
against  the  dark  relief  of  his  sleeve,  was  the 
heir-loom  of  which  the  Englishman  had  robbed 
us.  Had  I  not  been  held  in  icy  dumbness  of 
suspense,  I  must  have  leaped  up  and  claimed 
it.  A  doubt  held  me  back  :  Wliat  power  do 
the  dead  possess  ?     Was  it  actually  the  chain  ? 

"The  old  man  turned  his  head  suddenly, 
and  appeared  to  listen  intently.  I  feared  that 
the  negro's  heavy  breathing  had  disturbed  him. 
No. 

"He  glanced  sharply  in  the  direction  of  the 
opposite  door,  hastily  thrust  the  chain  into  his 
bosom,  and  then  the  fire  went  out  in  total  dark- 
ness, as   if  quenched  by  water.     After  that  I 


slept,  or  swooned.  I  only  know  I  was  uncon- 
scious. Next  morning  the  negro  awoke,  merry 
and  active,  after  an  uninterrupted  slumber.  I 
kept  silence  as  to  the  events  of  the  night,  and 
began  to  reflect  on  the  best  mode  of  penetra- 
ting the  closed  rooms.  This  would  have  been 
easy,  but  for  the  vigilance  of  tiie  Indian  wom- 
an. Evidently  she  had  fastened  the  rooms  af- 
ter Bernardo's  departure,  and  would  pei-mit  no 
one  to  enter.  I  did  not  wish  to  betray  an  in- 
terest in  the  house  to  either  of  my  companions. 

"The  first  day  I  contrived  to  send  the  ne- 
gro down  the  river  to  his  home  for  supplies  of 
food,  and  especially  lights.  The  Indian  wom- 
an refused  to  give  me  one  of  the  candles  used 
to  burn  before  her  altar.  During  Jake's  ab- 
sence I  hoped  to  gratify  my  curiosity.  In  vain! 
The  Indian  woman  seated  herself  on  the  floor 
in  the  hall,  folded  her  hands,  and  held  me  in- 
active with  her  glittering  eye.  I  afiected  an 
interest  in  the  birds  and  flowers ;  I  caught  fish 
in  the  river's  sparkling  t*de  ;  she  never  left  her 
post.  This  much  I  accomplished,  I  decided 
not  to  enter  the  rooms  by  the  doors,  as  she 
would  soon  detect  it,  but  to  penetrate  by  one 
of  the  windows  instead.  I  studied  one  case- 
ment in  rambling  through  the  garden  wilder- 
ness, and  observed  that  the  shutter  hung  loose. 

"  The  negro  returned  at  nightfixll,  loaded 
with  provisions,  and  the  woman,  her  weird 
brain  filled  with  fancies,  talked  long  and  ear- 
nestly with  Jake.  He  laughed  and  shook  his 
head,  told  her  there  was  a  great  war,  and  I  was 
hiding  from  my  enemies.  Partly  satisfied,  she 
withdrew.  I  allowed  several  days  to  elapse 
before  I  made  my  first  attempt. 

"  By  that  time  we  had  settled  into  a  routine 
of  life  ;  the  negro  cooked,  hunted,  and  fished  ; 
I  strolled  about  indifferently,  and  slept  much, 
or  appeared  to  sleep.  At  last  my  opportunity 
came.  Usually,  the  negro  coiled  himself  up 
before  the  fire  when  supper  was  over,  for  I  took 
care  that  he  should  take  no  naps  during  the 
day.  I  then  lighted  one  of  the  tapers  and  read 
or  wrote  in  my  memorandum-book  for  hours, 
in  order  to  be  up  the  latest.  Often  I  fancied 
that  the  Indian's  eyes  were  scrutinizing  my 
movements  through  some  crack.  My  heart 
beat  quickly  as  I  closed  my  book,  when  my 
watch  assured  me  it  was  eleven  o'clock.  I  put 
two  candles  into  my  pocket,  extinguished  the 
light,  removed  my  shoes,  and  stole  out  of  the 
hall.  The  night  was  horribly  thick  and  im- 
penetrable, even  the  masses  of  foliage  were  but 
another  fold  of  the  darkness.  To  lift  down  the 
shutter  and  try  the  window-sash  was  tlie  work 
of  an  instant.     It  yielded  with  a  grating  sound. 


48 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


I  listened  breathlessly  to  leani  if  it  had  disturb- 1 
ed  the  sleepers.  The  next  moment  I  was  in 
the  room.  Necessity  alone  would  ever  have 
made  me  venture  there  at  night.  Noiseless, 
filmy  shapes  seemed  to  brush  past  me  while  I 
was  lighting  my  candle. 

"A  room  dead  tiies'e  forty  years,  witli  bare 
ceiling,  discolored  walls,  and  not  one  article  of 
furniture  to  break  tiie  monotony  of  its  four 
sides.  The  Indian  woman  must  have  fasten- 
ed tlie  boards  across  the  door  leading  into  the 
hall,  and  climbed  out  of  the  window  afterward. 
Certainly  there  was  no  other  means  of  egress. 
With  cunning  she  had  fastened  this  door  to 
match  the  secrecy  of  the  opposite  one. 

"A  glance  convinced  me  that  the  place  was 
vacant,  although  I  inspected  it  carefully  before 
climbing  cut  of  the  window  once  more.  Cau-  j 
tiously  I  made  my  way  to  the  other  end  of  the 
house,  lleasoning  that  this  door  was  also  fas- 
tened on  the  inside,  and  that  the  Indian  had 
then  escaped  through  one  of  the  windows,  I 
removed  the  shutters  of  three  successively,  and 
ascertained  that  a  rusty  bolt  secured  each  sash 
within.  I  could  have  broken  the  glass,  but 
that  would  have  made  a  noise.  I  did  not  ex- 
actly fear  the  woman,  but  I  had  no  knowledge 
whereby  to  gauge  the  depths  of  a  savage's  an- 
ger, and  I  preferred  to  outwit  her.  There 
must  be  a  door,  either  in  the  floor  or  the  ceil- 
ing. Giddy  with  excitement,  I  forced  my  way 
into  the  cellar,  where  my  candle  threw  feeble 
rays  on  heavy  beams,  crumbling  earth,  and  sev- 
eral huge  casks  moldering  away  from  their 
iron  hoops.  The  cellar  was  full  of  lurking  ter- 
rors ;  I  saw  the  old  man  mocking  me ;  I  saw 
the  Indian  fiercely  watching  from  the  arch- 
way ;  there  was  a  head  leering  at  me  from  the 
cask.  A  stone  stairway  led  to  the  room  above. 
"  I  ascended  nervously,  received  a  blow  from 
some  unseen  source,  and  reeled  back  into  total 
darkness,  for  my  candle  had  slipped  from  my 
grasp,  and  rolled  on  the  ground.  I  lay  silent, 
expecting  an  assault,  but  no  sound  disturbed 
the  dreadful  stillness.  Finally,  I  groped  after 
the  missing  taper,  found  and  relighted  it.  Then 
I  discovered  what  the  obstacle  actually  was ; 
the  woman  had  placed  a  log  on  a  projection. 
I  slipped  past,  and  found  the  door,  which  was 
fastened  with  a  cord  twisted  so  ingeniously 
about  a  hook,  that  I  lost  patience  while  unfast- 
ening it.  At  last  I  pushed  the  door  open,  and 
entered. 

"The  floor  was  covered  with  a  straw  mat- 
ting, used  in  these  hot  countries,  and  a  rug  was 
spread  before  the  cane -seated  lounge.  Tlie 
matting  had  become  shreds,  the  curtains  had 


fallen  from  tlieir  hangings  in  the  lapse  of  years. 
Time's  tooth  had  been  busy  with  the  embroid- 
ery of  the  arm-chair,  the  warped  and  honey- 
combed wood-work.  With  a  shudder  I  glanced 
around  for  the  old  man.  The  place  bore  evi- 
dence of  haste  and  disorder.  It  was  as  if  some 
person  liad  searched  the  efl'ccts  of  another,  care- 
less of  consequences. 

"This  is  the  servant's  work.  lie  rifled  his 
master's  desks  after  the  latter  committed  sui- 
cide, I  instantly  decided.  Heavens !  Was 
the  shade  I  had  beheld  tliat  of  the  man  who 
hung  himself?  In  one  corner  stood  two  large 
vases  of  solid  silver,  but  of  rude  workmanship, 
an  ivory  idol,  in  a  shrine  exquisitely  carved, 
and  some  massive  pieces  of  plate,  which  ap- 
peared to  be  placed  together  ready  for  removal. 
Although  there  were  traces  of  the  chamber 
having  served  as  a  sleeping  apartment,  yet  it 
had  more  the  appearance  of  a  strong-room. 
The  fastening  of  the  door  leading  to  the  hall 
had  been  formidable  ;  a  solid  bar  of  iron  cross- 
ed the  once  stout  oak  panels.  My  attention 
was  chiefly  absorbed  by  two  objects.  One  was 
a  metal  plate  containing  a  pile  of  ashes,  with 
several  bits  of  charred  paper  in  the  midst.  Doc- 
uments had  been  destroyed,  either  by  master  or 
man.  The  other  was  a  box  with  brass  clamps 
inserted  in  the  wall,  with  a  fallen  portrait  lying 
on  the  floor  below.  Raising  the  picture,  I  found 
that  it  cleverly  concealed  the  aperture,  when 
hung  in  its  proper  place  on  the  wall.  With  a 
sudden  thrill  I  recognized  on  the  faded  canvas 
the  harsh  features  of  the  old  man.  The  por- 
trait was  roughly  executed,  and  was  possibly 
the  work  of  some  amateur.  With  trembling 
fingers  I  raised  the  lid  of  the  box,  loosely  ad- 
justed, after  the  rifling  touch  of  Bernardo  had 
carelessly  prepared  the  way  for  me,  or  whoever 
came  next.  It  was  empty.  In  vain  I  tapped 
the  sides  for  secret  inclosures,  there  was  abso- 
lutely nothing  left  but  a  single  gold  coin  of  old 
Spanish  date  to  reward  my  diligence.  The 
coin  taught  me  something.  The  box  was  used 
to  hold  treasiue,  probably  money. 

"  I  next  proceeded  to  examine  the  table. 
Every  scrap  of  paper  had  been  burned ;  the  quill 
pens  were  perfect,  but  the  inkstand  had  been 
converted  into  a  spider  mansion.  However,  a 
half  leaf  of  a  letter  had  fluttered  beneath  the 
table,  which  I  appropriated.  Having  now  re- 
mained as  long  as  I  dared,  I  closed  the  door, 
adjusted  the  cord,  and  made  my  way  back  to 
the  hall. 

"Next  morning  I  was  awakened  by  the  scru- 
tinizing gaze  of  the  Indian  fastened  on  me. 

"  '  Sleep  much,' "  she  muttered,  doubtfully. 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW, 


49 


"I  availed  myself  of  the  first  opportunity  to 
draw  forth  the  paper  and  study  it.  As  much 
as  the  latter  half  of  a  letter  —  therefore  without 
date  or  address — can  teach,  I  learned.  It  was 
the  very  shado\T  of  a  letter,  with  fdmy  charac- 
ters traced  on  it,  some  lines  dim  heyond  recog- 
nition of  their  meaning,  with  here  and  there  a 
word  gleaming  out.  The  language  was  Span- 
ish. I  gleaned  that  the  recipient  was  urged  to 
go' at  once  to  a  distant  city  on  the  great  river, 
as  the  writer  was  very  ill.  The  signature  was 
— 'Thy  sister,  Maddalena." 

"For  hours  I  pondered  over  this  slight  clue. 
To  whom  did  the  letter  belong  ?  I  concluded 
it  must  be  Bernardo's  property,  for  this  reason  : 
If  his  master  was  the  buccaneer,  he  was  En- 
glish ;  therefore  Ins  sister  could  scarcely  have 
addressed  him  in  Spanish  with  the  name  of 
'Maddalena.'  The  servant,  on  the  contrary, 
was  a  Minorcan,  had  left  suddenly  after  his 
master's  death,  had  promised  the  Indian  to  re- 
turn, but  had  never  done  so.  The  plate  left  in 
the  room  would  have  brouglit  him  back,  al- 
though he  probably  carried  off  all  available 
booty.  No  doubt  he  had  also  taken  the  neck- 
lace ;  and  to  ever  find  it,  I  must  trace  the 
Minorcan  family.  Once  more  I  searched  the 
4 


room,  but  found  nothing.  I  believe  the  Indian 
had  no  suspicion  of  my  clandestine  visits. 

"I  left  the  i)lacc,  recovered  my  horse,  and 
went  across  the  country  to  the  distant  city.  I 
am  writing  now  from  that  city,  which  is  being 
furiously  bombarded  ;  but  I  seem  to  have  a 
charmed  life.  I  can  not  now  describe  the 
siege. 

"I  have  found  the  l\Iinorcans.  Bernardo 
died  here.  He  did  not  bring  the  necklace.  I 
believe  it  is  still  concealed  in  the  house.  lie 
was  ignorant  of  its  existence,  or  he  left  it  safe- 
ly hidden  until  his  return.  I  am  going  back 
now  to  seek  for  it.  Had  I  only  known  before 
what  I  now  do,  I  should  have  escaped  the  ac- 
cursed conflict  of  these  armies,  whose  victory 
or  defeat  are  alike  a  matter  of  indifi^erence 
to  me.  I  write  this  information  in  event  of 
any  misfortune  befalling  me.  I  shall  post 
this  letter  by  one  of  the  blockade-runners  of 
the  coast." 

Here  the  letter  ended  abruptly. 

The  officer  turned  over  Grandfather  Rost's 
papers,  and  the  directions  for  Samuel. 

"What  are  you  reading?"  asked  Nichohis 
Ilearn,  jocosely,  as  he  passed. 

"A  romance,"  quietly  replied  Nelson  Thorne. 


CHAPTER  Xy. 


NELSON     TIIORNE. 


WHEN  Joseph  Rost  was  being  cduciitcil 
in  the  north  of  Europe,  the  young  officer, 
seated  on  tlic  tree-stump  reading  his  papers,  liad 
received  his  training  for  life  in  a  far  difl'erent 
school. 

Possessed  of  unfailing  sweetness  of  temper 
and  an  indolent  disposition,  the  boyhood  of 
Nelson  Thorne  refused  to  yield  to  the  restless 
impulses  of  activity  about  him.  His  teachers 
termed  him  a  dunce,  his  fellow  -  pupils  lazy- 
bones. His  father  was  simply  amazed  at  the 
healthy  animal,  who  possessed  so  little  of  his 
own  ambition  and  industry. 

Experience  Thorne  was  a  stern  man,  of 
strong  passions  and  curbing  will.  About  him 
lingered  a  far-distant  reputation  of  exti'aordi- 
nary  gayety  in  early  youth,  succeeded  by  a  re- 
form to  staid,  severe  middle  age,  as  complete 
as  the  Catholic  devotee's  laying  aside  of  earth- 
ly vanities  for  cell  or  hermit's  cave ;  in  either 
case,  a  frequent  phase  of  human  nature  after 
idle  frivolity,  and  apt  to  run  to  the  same  ex- 
treme. Of  this  gay  youth  there  came  to  thcr 
son  not  even  the  romance ;  he  only  knew  the 
father  of  a  dark,  roomy  house  at  the  corner  of 
two  narrow  streets  in  the  city  of  his  birth.  At 
the  back  of  the  liouse  was  a  small  garden  and 
one  walnut-tree,  drooping  its  branches  over  the 
kitchen-shed.  Tiiis  tree  Avas  associated  with 
his  earliest  remembrances,  because  of  an  at- 
tempt to  climb,  frustrated  by  a  firm  grasp  on 
the  ascending  little  legs. 

A  still  more  remote  memory  lingered,  like  a 
star  glittering  in  darkest  night,  somewhere  back 
in  the  very  realm  of  babyhood  ;  a  graceful  form 
had  flitted  among  the  roses  of  that  tiny  garden, 
and  had  rested  in  silent  rcjiose  afterward,  with 
the  roses  droojiing  in  fragrant  clusters  about 
the  chamber  where  Experience  Tliorne  was 
praying  wildly  to  be  taken  also,  kneeling,  in 
agony,  beside  the  voiceless   clay  of  his  idol. 


The  little  son  stood  at  the  door,  peering  won- 
deringly  in  at  the  strange  scene.  Over  the 
cliimney-i)iece  hung  the  portraits  of  a  blooming 
girl  in  a  short- waistcd  gown,  wiili  her  hair 
confined  by  a  high  Spanish  comb,  and  gloves 
drawn  over  the  elbows.  The  little  son,  forget- 
ting to  taste  the  ginger-cake  the  sobbing  cook 
had  just  given  him  below  stairs,  stared  at  the 
portrait,  and  the  waxen  fiice  beneath.  The 
girl's  eyes  in  the  picture  sparkled  with  hope, 
which  life  in  her  home  on  the  bleak  hill-side  be- 
side the  frozen  river  might  never  quench,  and 
here  the  hojJC  was  quenched  in  death  to  Ex- 
perience Thorne.  The  rounded  bloom  of  the 
cheek  was  gone ;  the  light  feet  had  not  been 
able  to  outstrip  the  pursuing  enemy  of  all  her 
race  of  blithe  sisters — consum])tion. 

After  that  the  mother  was  gone ;  only  the 
picture  remained.  A  stolid  man  came  to  the 
house  every  night,  and  went  away  again,  with 
a  lantern,  and  supper  of  cold  meat,  bread,  and 
cheese  in  a  napkin.  There  was  nothing  terri- 
ble in  this  man's  aspect ;  he  was  a  steady,  mat- 
ter-of-f;tct  English  laborer;  but  the  little  son 
grew  to  have  a  shuddering  interest  in  him  some- 
how associated  with  the  dead  mother.  Per- 
haps he  gathered  crumbs  of  mysterious  talk 
from  the  servants'  allusions  to  grave-yards,  and 
attached  them  all  to  this  stranger. 

Sometimes  he  came  in  heavy  rain-storms, 
with  the  moisture  dripping  from  his  oil -skin 
coat ;  but,  whatever  the  weather,  he  invaria- 
bly' carried  away  the  lantern  and  his  supper. 
I\Iore  curious  still,  the  lantern  was  back  in  its 
place  in  the  morning,  hatiging  on  a  jieg  in  the 
kitchen  hall.  Often  the  little  son  climbed  on 
a  cliair  to  investigate,  but  the  lantern  had  no 
tales  to  tell. 

At  last  the  laborer  disappeared,  the  lantern 
rusted  on  the  peg,  and  the  little  son  forgot  a 
matter  which  was  still  fresh  in  the  bereaved 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


;i 


'  heart  of  Experience  Tliorne  :  this  man  had 
watched  beside  his  wife's  tomb. 

Fromthatdate  the  fatliei-pcrccptibly changed, 
grew  stern  in  his  religion,  and,  meeting  witli 
a  reverse  of  fortune  soon  after,  applied  himself 
dili^^ently  to  business.  Only  in  one  phase  of 
character  did  he  evince  enthusiasm,  and  was 
easily  swayed  by  the  influences  of  progress 
about  him.  A  race  foremost  in  the  enterprises 
of  the  century,  with  the  fresh  ardor  of  a  new 
nation,  we  Americans  often  leap  at  the  fruit 
before  it  is  ripe  for  plucking,  and  sometimes 
grasp  leaves  instead  of  any  fruit  at  all. 

Experience  Tiiorne  possessed  an  iron  consti- 
tution, and  he  proceeded  to  test  the  metal  of 
it  in  various  ways.  Four  o'clock  of  a  winter 
morning  found  him  reading  a  book  of  devo- 
tions aloud  by  the  light  of  a  solitary  candle. 
At  five  he  was  trudging  through  the  snow- 
covered  streets,  skirting  wide  parks,  ermine- 
draped,  peering  into  his  ^office  to  see  if  the 
clerks  had  done  their  duty  overnight,  and  in- 
specting the  markets. 

If  the  drowsy  little  son  was  not  standing  be- 
hind his  chair  at  the  breakfost- table  on  the 
stroke  of  six,  he  knew  only  too  well  what  to 
expect. 

Experience  Thorne  became  aGrahamite,  and 
fed  his  family  conscientiously  on  bran.  He 
employed  the  little  son  in  reading  aloud  pam- 
phlets on  his  favorite  hobby ;  he  weighed  the 
food  he  ate  with  scales,  and  counted  narrowly 
the  sips  of  water  imbibed  by  the  little  son  at  a 
meal.  A  favorite  theory  was,  that  one  article 
of  nourishment  sufficed  for  a  repast,  but  facts 
conquered  one  unwilling  little  disciple. 

A  supper  long  to  be  remembered  was  that 
at  which  Experience  Thorne  and  his  son  par- 
took gravely  of-  a  feast  of  Brazil-nuts  in  the 
dark  oak-wainscoted  dining-room.  The  doc- 
tor was  summoned  before  morning.  The  nuts 
were  packed  off  up  garret ;  and  as  one  experi- 
ment succeeded  another,  the  result  of  fiiilure 
being  thus  swept  out  of  sight,  the  Thorne  gar- 
ret became  a  museum  of  wonders,  a  banquet 
of  delicacies  to  the  children  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. The  master  was  proud,  even  in  his  foi- 
bles, and  never  again  alluded  to  discarded  the- 
ories. He  clothed  poor  lecturers ;  his  parlors 
became  the  rendezvous  of  eager,  cadaverous 
men,  who  came  and  went  with  much  apparent 
bustle.  The  little  son  hated  these  visitors  with 
all  the  intense,  unreasoning  animosity  of  child- 
hood, and  resented  the  bland  pats  on  the  head 
he  received  from  their  cold  fingers. 

The  temper  of  Experience  Thome's  household 
suffered  severely  under  these  trials,  although  he 


was  unconscious  of  it.  Was  it  not  sufficient  to 
depress  the  spirit  of  Bridget  M'Grath,  cook,  to 
be  kept  on  slops  of  Indian  meal  (indignantly 
rejected  by  old  Ireland  in  time  of  famine),  witli- 
out  even  a  taste  of  meat  or  wheat  bread  allow- 
ed ?  Then  to  be  called  into  the  parlor  to  show 
the  approving  gentlemen  how  she  throve  on 
the  diet !  And  the  blessed,  motherless  child, 
that  went  prowling  about  the  empty  cupboards 
for  a  bit  of  something  to  his  mind !  Sure,  it 
was  many  a  surreptitious  beefsteak  he  discuss- 
ed -vyith  Mrs.  M'Grath.  Hence  the  rosy  ap- 
pearance of  the  victims.  Hence  the  hypocrisy 
practiced  under  Experience  Thome's  very  nose. 

If  during  the  week  the  son  was  subjected  to 
much  discipline,  he  experienced  no  pleasure  in 
looking  forward  to  the  Sabbath  at  the  close. 
The  Puritans  seldom  understood  teaching  chil- 
dren the  religion  of  love  in  Jesus  Christ.  He 
might  lay  the  foundation  of  a  future  firm  and 
noble  manhood,  but  during  the  transition  of 
tender  youth  he  scattered  no  flowers.  Nel- 
son's boyhood  consisted  of  a  series  of  spiritu- 
al buffetings,  as  it  were.  If  he  was  good,  he 
would  be  saved  for  awful  glories  which  fright- 
ened him.  If  he  was  wicked,  he  would  be 
doomed  to  torments  which  terrified  him  still 
more.  The  process  of  being  either  good  or 
bad  was  not  made  at  all  clear  to  his  compre- 
hension, for  the  simple  reason  that  he  asked  no 
questions,  so  glad  was  he  to  escape  from  the 
subject  to  foot-ball  and  hop-scotch. 

At  the  age  of  eight  years  the  case  stood 
thus  :  He  was  not  to  steal  or  tell  falsehoods, 
of  course.  But  what  else  was  expected  of 
him  ?  He  was  told  that  a  change  of  heart  was 
necessary,  and  to  the  boy's  mind  the  expres- 
sion had  only  a  literal  significance.  Many  a 
time  he  listened  to  the  throbs  of  the  great  organ 
of  life,  wondering  what  was  to  happen.  Once, 
when  he  bade  his  father  good-night,  the  latter 
said,  with  impressive  earnestness,  ^ 

"  My  son,  you  can  be  a  Christian  before  you 
reach  the  top  stair.  Remember  how  much  I 
wish  it." 

Up  the  staircase,  shrouded  in  shadows,  went 
the  little  figure,  carrying  a  lamp,  oppressed  by 
an  indefinable  dread,  yet  listening  to  the  strokes 
of  his  heart  step  by  step,  slowly,  wonderingly, 
pausing  on  each  one  to  discover  if  he  was  still 
the  same  boy,  until  the  landing  was  gained. 

"  Guess  I  never  shall  be  any  thing  but  a  bad 
boy !"  he  exclaimed,  making  a  petulant  rush 
into  his  chamber.  Afterward  he  laughed  mer- 
rily ;  childhood  re-asserted  sway  over  healthy 
nerves. 

Years  afterward  he  saw  the  Saviour  in  the 


52 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


glories  of  a  painted  window',  through  which  the 
liglit  flowed  in  wide  effulgence  down  into  tlic 
twilight  dimness  of  a  church. 

He  had  not  been  slain  by  a  thunder- bolt  of 
wrath  on  the  stairway,  and  so  might  live  after 
his  own  fancy.  A  sensitive  child  would  have 
suffered  the  ])ain  of  self-reproach  more  keenly; 
but  Nelson-was  not  a  very  sensitive  child.  He 
became  only  more  indolent  and  carelessly  good- 
humored. 

Sunday  was  then  a  moral  strait-jacket,  a 
season  of  wearisome  exhortations,  alternating 
with  rebellious  thoughts  of  what  he  would  do 
when  a  grown  man. 

There  stood  the  old  minister  in  the  pulpit, 
with  wiry  hair  bristling  upward  from  his  fore- 
head, and  a  funny  nose,  at  which  Nelson  stared 
from  his  father's  pew  three  times  a  day.  The 
preacher's  words  miglit  be  eloquent  to  older 
ears,  his  eyes  beaming  with  zealous  intelli- 
gence ;  the  boy  seldom  noticed  either.  If  a 
fly  ventured  into  meeting,  there  was  food  for 
speculation  whether  it  would  continue  to  buzz 
and  bump  stupidly  against  the  glass  pane,  or 
escape  before  the  sermon  was  over,  as  Nelson 
would  like  to  have  done. 

In  the  adjoining  pew  sat  an  old  lady,  whose 
appearance  inspired  awe  in  the  lad's  heart. 
Her  silk  gown  seemed  to  creak  with  richness, 
and  her  brown  curls  were  so  primly  smooth 
that  Nelson  could  not  but  wonder  if  they  were 
laid  away  in  a  bureau  drawer  all  the  week, 
to  keep  so  nice,  as  indeed  they  were.  He 
never  dared  to  gaze  openly  at  the  old  lady, 
but  made  these  discoveries  in  a  series  of  sly 
glances  during  prayers.  Imagine  his  astonish- 
ment when  she  stealthily  pulled  his  sleeve  and 
popped  a  large  peppermint-drop  into  his  hand. 
The  influence  of  that  jjciipermint-drop  was  in- 
calculable. Nelson  placed  it  on  his  tongue  ;  a 
balmy  fragrance  was  diffused,  which  caused 
•Experience  Thorne  to  sniff  suspiciously,  and 
glance  at  his  son,  who  maintained  an  immova- 
ble demeanor.  The  little  man's  thoughts  were 
busy.  Here  in  an  arid  desert  was  unexpected 
peppermint,  and  the  kindly  impulse  to  give  it 
to  a  strange  boy.  His  heart  warmed,  glowed 
when  he  thought  of  the  old  lady  in  the  false 
front.  Previously  he  had  misjudged  her  by 
the  supposition  that  she  was  a  stiff  spinster,  a 
term  of  indefinalile  disgrace  among  his  school- 
mates ;  now  he  firmly  believed  her  to  be  grand- 
mother. 

The  very  next  day  he  expended  his  hoard  of 
pennies  in  the  purchase  of  a  nosegay,  learned 
the  old  lady's  address  from  the  sexton,  and 
took  it  to  her.     The  recipient  did  not  know 


which  to  consider  the  most  beautiful — the  flow- 
ers, or  the  lad's  flushed,  happy  face. 

The  peppermint  became  an  established  in- 
stitution, in  the  second  prayer. 

If  there  was  much  prose,  there  was  also  one 
gem  of  romance,  a  beautiful  young  lady.  The 
boy's  sharp  young  eyes  examined  the  plumes 
of  her  hat,  the  pattern  of  her  ear-drops  ;  above 
all,  the  soft  outline  of  her  face  and  silken 
masses  of  golden  hair.  Often  did  Nelson  be- 
come so  pleasantly  absorbed  in  sketching  the 
husband  she  would  marry,  how  she  must  look 
without  her  hat,  that  he  aroused  with  a  start, 
to  the  consciousness  that  the  minister  had 
c^sed  speaking,  and  pulled  down  his  speeta- 
clesT»jj[^^sjbrehe^j|M|lhe  bridge  of  his  nose, 
preparator™crgiving  out  the  hymn. 

Nelson  fell  into  deep  disgrace.  Some  triv- 
ial matter  brought  to  his  father's  mind  the 
subject  of  card-playing,  and,  with  that  horror 
of  an  infatuation  which  he  recalled  only  with 
shame  and  disgust,  he  strove  to  imbue  his  son 
with  a  like  principle.  The  son  was  innocent 
and  ignorant.  Forthwith  he  questioned  his 
schoolmates  concerning  this  ensnaring  delu- 
sion, and  the  result  was,  a  big  boy  permitted 
him  to  witness  a  game  of  high-low-jack.  The 
big  boy  played  with  the  skill  and  coolness  of 
a  veteran.  From  admiring  inaction.  Nelson 
became  a  timid  participant.  In  a  week  he 
would  have  wearied  of  the  sport,  had  there  not 
been  that  zest  of  clandestine  danger  about  it. 
Then  the  big  boy  dared  Nelson  to  play  at 
home,  and  the  latter,  writhing  under  the  taunt, 
waxed  snfiiciently  bold  to  invite  three  friends  to 
a  game  in  the  pantry,  with  Bridget  M'Grath's 
sanction,  on  a  holiday. 

The  pantry  possessed  many  advantages ; 
there  was  a  sugar-barrel  to  serve  as  a  table, 
and  the  various  avenues  of  escape  were  easy, 
in  case  of  alarm.  Mrs.  M'G rath  even  agreed 
to  rattle  the  poker,  and  .sing  the  "Banks  of 
Killarncy  "  louder  than  usual,  as  a  danger  sig- 
nal.    The  M'Grath  creed  was  indulgent. 

"Let  the  darlinfs  enjoy  theirselves.  Faith  ! 
it's  a  little  drop  they'll  be  getting  out  of  life, 
anyways." 

The  fun  was  exhilarating;  the  game  pro- 
gressed famously  ;  Nelson  was  actually  beating 
the  big  boy,  when  a  shadow  fell  athwaft  the 
sugar-barrel  table.  Experience  Tiiorne  was 
gazing  down  at  the  youtiiful  gamesters  from 
the  street  above.  The  big  boy  ignominiously 
fled.  Experience  Thorne  swept  the  cards  into 
the  kitchen  fire,  and  it  was  understood  at 
school  that  he  did  not  spare  the  rod  on  that  oc- 
casion. 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


A  second  dishonor  followed  swiftly  on  the 
first  one.  Nelson  daily  took  his  way  to  a  large 
school,  witli  sachel  slung  over  one  slioulder, 
joined  by  mates  on  the  way.  Nelson  was  far 
from  being  a  brilliant  scholar.  In  vain  did  his 
fatlier  wait  for  him  to  win  some  prize  for  dili- 
gent application  or  talent.  The  son  was  far 
more  likely  to  be  nibbling  an  apple  furtively,  or 
drawing  a  caricature  of  the  master  under  his 
desk-lid  than  conning  his  lesson.  Experience 
Thorne  vented  sarcasm  and  reproach  ;  the  boy 
was  hurt,  and  made  good  resolutions,  which 
evaporated  before  the  next  hard  task.  "Un- 
stable as  water,  thou  shalt  not  excel,"  was  a 
sentence  which  he  read  on  the  wall  opposite 
his  bed,  when  he  opened  his  eyes  one  morning. 
He  could  readily  surmise  whose  hand  had 
framed  it  there,  and  for  life  the  sentence  haunt- 
ed him  uncomfortably,  although  at  the  time  it 
bore  no  fruit. 

Destiny  was  commencing  her  work  on  this 
lieedless  lad,  one  bright  September  day,  when 
he  strolled  along  to  school,  as  usual. 

Destiny  brought  Sam'  Howson  around  the 
corner  with  such  precipitation  that  he  rebound- 
ed from  our  hero  into  the  gutter,  spilling  the 
treasures  of  his  luncheon -bag.  He  was  up 
again,  with  tlie  agility  of  a  cat. 

"Guess  what  has  happened  to  Tommy?"  he 
demanded,  breathlessly. 

"He's  not  dead?"  queried  Nelson. 

"No:  worse  than  that,  mother  says.  He's 
gone  to  the  insane  asylum,  clean  cracked,"  re- 
plied Sam,  tasting  his  crisp  turn-over,  to  judge 
if  the  fall  had  at  all  impaired  its  flavor. 

The  two  boys  walked  on  soberly.  Tommy, 
a  slender,  delicate  child,  had  been  the  preco- 
cious scholar  of  the  class,  the  pride  of  the  mas- 
ter's heart,  who  never  wearied  of  displaying 
what  Tommy  could  do  at  blackboard  or  recita- 
tion. Of  course  Tommy  was  the  knight  who 
carried  off  the  prizes  in  the  tournament  of  un- 
folding minds.  How  about  unfolding  bodies? 
In  the  act  of  receiving  the  well-earned  reward 
of  his  industry  fragile  little  Tommy  fell,  and 
was  seen  no  more  in  the  busy  walks  of  life. 

Presently  the  boys  were  joined  by  the  big 
boy,  who  was  profoundly  respected  by  both  in 
their  hearts.  The  big  boy  had  a  certain  lofty 
patronage  of  manner,  which  became  him  well, 
enjoyed  a  liberal  supply  of  jiocket-money,  and 
was  supposed  to  have  seen  much  of  the  world. 
The  trio  approached  a  building  wliich  had  al- 
ways been  to  Nelson's  imagination  a  temple  of 
wonders.  It  had  a  faded  appearance  by  day, 
and  the  spacious  entrance  was  redolent  of  stale 
tobacco-smoke,  but  a  flag  fluttered  bravely  from 


the  roof.  At  the  door  lounged  a  young  man, 
with  a  profusion  of  cheaj)  jewelry  flowing  over 
a  gay  waistcoat,  a  cane,  his  hat  worn  very  much 
on  one  side,  and  his  hair  oiled.  He  winked  in 
a  friendly  way  at  tlie  three  boys  as  they  jjassed. 

"Do  you  go  to  the  Comet  often?"  imiuircd 
the  big  boy. 

Nelson  was  obliged  to  confess  that  he  had 
never  been  to  "  the  Comet,"  or  any  other  thea- 
tre in  his  life. 

Experience  Thorne  considered  the  theatre  as 
the  epitome  of  all  evil,  and  his  son  had  been 
early  fortified  against  its  wiles,  indeed  before 
he  could  well  understand  the  warning.  More- 
over, he  had  been  strictly  forbidden  ever  to  en- 
ter a  place  of  amusement. 

"Never  been  to  a  theatre!"  scoff'ed  the  big 
boy.      "You  iimst  be  precious  green!" 

Nelson  reddened  to  the  roots  of  his  hair ;  but 
as  the  scorner  took  himself  off  to  recognize  an 
acquaintance  at  that  painful  moment,  a  reply 
was  unnecessary.  There  was  balm,  also,  in 
Gilead.  Sam  Ilowson  was  in  a  like  predica- 
ment. 

"I  wonder  if  it  is  nice.     What  do  they  act  ?" 

"  Lots  of  fun  to  see — eh  ?" 

Suddenly  the  two  boys  halted  and  looked  at 
each  other.  Black  eyes  twinkled:  "Let's  go 
and  see  for  ourselves."  Gray  eyes  flashed 
back,  "Now!  instead  of  going  to  school."  The 
smart  young  man  had  strolled  away ;  they  en- 
tered the  passage,  crossed  a  vestibule,  and  were 
suddenly  ingulfed  in  darkness.  Half  an  hour 
later  Nelson  was  lying  at  the  foot  of  a  crooked 
stairway  with  a  dislocated  ankle,  and  Sam 
Howson  was  groping  blindly  after  assistance. 

The  young  explorers  had  entered  a  vast 
place  which  seemed  like  a  cavern.  Faint  rays 
of  daylight  gleamed  through  the  closed  win- 
dows, here  and  there  showing  shadowy  outlines 
of  gallery,  and  a  dome  sj)anning  the  obscurity 
fixr  overhead.  Every  object  was  strange  and 
mysterious  to  the  children,  who  peopled  the 
cavern  with  a  race  entirely  dissimilar  to  them- 
selves. Unaccountable  sounds  rumbled  through 
the  building,  now  under  their  feet,  now  over- 
head, succeeded  by  unearthly  silence.  The 
busy  street  they  had  so  recently  quitted  seem- 
ed miles  away. 

A  dusky  curtain  flew  up,  revealing  a  second 
abysis  of  darkness,  lighted  sparsely  wilh  flaring 
gas-jets.  There  was  a  hum  of  voices,  and  a 
great  many  people  to  be  seen  rushing  wildly 
about,  talking  and  gesticulating.  Evidently 
there  was  a  serious  quarrel.  Spell-bound,  the 
boys  watched  a  deadly  strife,  in  which  one  man 
defended  himself  with  desperate  valor  against 


64 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


ji  dozen  ruflians,  tripjiing  tliem  up  like  nine- 
p|ns  as  they  ajjproachcd.  Most  puzzling  were 
tiie  comments  of  a  person  who  leaned  against 
a  i)asteboard  castle  with  a  book  in  his  hand. 

"  Try  that  once  more,  Jenkins.  You  die  too 
easy." 

Forthwith  up  popj)ed  the  first  assassin  and 
attacked  the  solitary  man  again.  So  palpable 
a  sham  made  Sam  Howson  cynical. 

"It's  only  make-believe,"  he  whispered. 

Then  a  lady  wearing  a  shabby  bonnet  and 
shawl  sang  a  song  hoarsely  about  being  a 
queen,  and  then  the  curtain  swe])t  down  once 
more. 

No  great  harm  was  done  had  the  boys  then 
departed  ;  but  tlie  spell  of  curiosity  was  on 
them,  and  they  made  their  way  to  the  orches- 
tra, climbed  to  the  stage,  and  penetrated  to 
the  world  behind  the  scenes.  They  clamber- 
ed over  carpenters'  tools,  narrowly  escaped  fall- 
ing through  a  trap,  and  finally  toppled  down 
a  screen  with  a  dull  reverberating  noise.  In 
his  haste  to  escape  after  this  disaster,  Nelson 
plunged  headlong  down  the  crooked  stair- 
way. 

"Where  are  you?"  quavered  Sammy  How- 
son,  his  courage  failing  in  this  emergency. 

"  Down  here  ;  and  oh,  Sam  !  my  leg  is  bro- 
ken, I  knew." 

"P'raps  we  are  caught  in  a  cage,  and  can 
never  get  out,"  suggested  Sam,  in  great  ex- 
citement. 

At  this  moment  a  spark  of  light  approached, 
shed  from  a  taper  in  the  hand  of  a  pallid  man, 
clad  in  a  flannel  dressing-gown.  This  man 
was  talking  to  himself  in  a  way  that  froze  the 
blood  in  Sam's  veins  as  he  listened. 

"If  sooth  I  say,  I  must  report  they  were 
As  cannon  overcharg'd  with  double  cracks ; 
So  they  doubly  redoubled  strokes  upon  the  foe : 
Except  they  meant  to  bathe  iu  reeking  wound?, 


Or  memorize  another  Golgotha, 

I  can  not  tell  : 

But  I  am  faint,  ray  gashes  cry  for  help." 

"  Please,  sir,  Nelson  is  down  there,"  faltered 
Sam,  plucking  timidly  at  the  flannel  dressing- 
gown. 

The  stranger  drew  himself  up,  surveyed  the 
very  small  boy  haughtily,  and  waved  his  hand 
majestically : 

"  So  well  thy  words  become  thee  as  tliy  wounds ; 
They  smack  of  honor  both:— Go,  get  him  surgeons." 

Sam  was  on  the  point  of  ducking  behind  a 
canvas  rock  which  the  candle  revealed,  and 
leaving  Nelson  to  his  fate,  when  the  latter 
cried,  pettishly, 

"Do  help  me  up  I" 

"Eh?  What  the  deuce  is  this?"  said  the 
stranger,  in  natural  tones,  putting  down  his  pa- 
pers, and  lifting  the  boy  carefully. 

Soon  they  were  surrounded  by  the  assassins, 
director,  and  even  the  hoarse  lady,  who  kindly 
laid  Nelson's  head  on  her  shoulder  in  a  moth- 
erly way,  calling  him  "poor  dear  "  repeatedly. 
Sam  Howson  was  questioned  as  to  the  cause 
of  their  appearance  on  the  stage,  but  was  re- 
markably reticent  in  his  replies. 

It  happened  that  as  Experience  Thorne  was 
passing  "The  Comet,"- he  beheld  a  procession 
issuing  forth,  consisting  of  the  assassins  in  a 
body,  bearing  along  his  son,  with  a  woman  in 
a  shabby  bonnet  holding  his  hand.  Sam  How- 
son followed,  furtively- wiping  his  eyes  on  his 
jacket-cuff. 

The  result  of  this  escapade  was  that  Nelson 
was  sent  away  to  school,  and  afterward  to  col- 
lege. Here  he  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Nicholas  Hcarn  in  a  curious  way.  He  had 
the  honor  of  losing  one  of  his  cherished  whis- 
kers, and  having  an  eye  endangered  by  an  ex- 
, plosion  of  gases  at  the  hands  of  Nicholas. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

ST.  CHRYSOSTOM. 


IT  wns  small,  musty,  and  damp,  but  these 
qualificntions  only  imparted  a  flavor  of  age 
in  a  land  wliere  all  things  are  new.  Erected 
by  a  former  Mrs.  Kaines,  St.  Chrysostom  was 
the  result  of  piety,  as  well  as  an  imitation  of 
the  churches  on  English  estates  for  the  tenant- 
ry, only  here  there  was  no  tenantry. 

Little  St.  Chiysostom,  ivy-grown  and  gray, 
was  held  dear  by  all  succeeding  members  of  the 
family,  and  that  was  sufficient  reason  to  make 
it  the  fashion  of  the  town,  for  tlie  Raincses  had 
o*ned  this  property  quite  from  the  date  of  the 
colonies. 

There  were  tablets  on  the  walls  lauding  the 
virtues  of  departed  Raineses,  royalists  and  pa- 
triots ;  a  memorial  window  to  the  good  lady- 
founder  ;  and  beside  the  chancel  an  alcove, 
where  the  glowing  warmth  of  a  rosette  case- 
ment fell  on  a  marble  group,  angel  alighting, 
with  snowy  wings  outspread,  beside  the  chil- 
dren who  will  awaken  when  "  tlie  sea  shall  give 
up  her  dead." 

Not  for  any  consideration  could  St.  Chrysos- 
tom be  modernized.  The  clergyman  ascended 
a  spiral  stairway  to  the  pulpit,  perched  above 
the  clerk's  desk  ;  the  pews  were  square  boxes, 
into  which  the  occupant  vanished.  This  se- 
clusion was  grateful  to  the  true  worshiper,  but 
displeasing  to  the  gay  summer  frequenters  of 
the  shore,  who  lived  on  the  excitement  of  as- 
suming fresh  toilets,  and  languished  with  envy 
over  a  neighbor's  French  bonnet.  Yet  the 
quaint  little  church  was  thronged  of  a  summer 
Sunday,  because  it  was  the  proper  thing  to  do. 

Unusual  preparations  were  being  made  to 
celebrate  Easter.  The  Raines  family  had  re- 
turned, after  years  of  absence  in  Europe.  Mrs. 
Raines  had  made  her  advent  acceptable  by  pre- 
senting a  new  altar-cloth,  a  neat  purse  to  the 
rector,  and  a  gift  to  every  child  in  tlie  parish. 


Perhaps  David  Brownson,  organist,  was 
chiefly  interested  in  the  occasion,  for  he  cher- 
ished a  mighty  secret,  not  shared  even  with 
the  rector.  He  fidgeted  about  the  organ-loft, 
arranged  the  music,  and  imparted  to  a  beetle- 
browed  contralto,  a  surly  basso,  and  conceited 
young  tenor,  such  singular  commands  as  these: 

"Mind  that  you  give  her  a  chance.  If  she 
loses  confidence,  cover  her  faults.  We  will 
have  no  discords  at  Easter." 

The  chimes  rang  out  on  the  breeze,  which 
was  sweet  with  the  promise  of  early  spring.  A 
holy  calm  rested  on  earth  and  sky.  The  sea 
rimpled  up  in  blue  transparent  lines,  foam- 
flecked,  and  melted  away  to  a  tender  haze  on 
the  horizon,  across  which  the  ships  passed,  like 
full  flowe»-petals  wind-blown.  David  Brown- 
son,  with  his  sandy  hair  all  awry,  and  his  queer 
face  puckered  into  a  perturbed  expression,  peer- 
ed down  into  the  church,  and  walked  to  the  lit- 
tle door  leading  to  his  musical  kingdom,  con- 
sulting his  watch  as  he  did  so. 

He  discovered  nothing  save  an  indiscretion 
on  the  part  of  Mikey  Burke,  the  organ-blower, 
in  smoking  a  clay  pipe  within  the  sacred  pre- 
cincts, a  fault  remedied  by  the  simple  process 
of  reversing  the  pipe  in  Mr.  Burke's  coat- 
pocket. 

The  chimes  ceased ;  a  soft  rustling  of  dra- 
peries announced  the  arrival  of  the  Raines  la- 
dies. -Brownson,  with  a  smothered  exclama- 
tion of  disgust,  began  his  voluntary.  In  vain 
the  banks  of  white  keys  lured  his  fancy,  and  the 
golden  pipes  waited  to  swell  the  grand  harmo- 
nies which  usually  came  from  his  inspired  fin- 
gers.. The  organist's  execution  was  measured 
and  cold.  Tmith  to  tell,  he  was  troubled  by 
the  absence  of  the  sopr.ano  of  the  day,  and 
anathematized  the  unreliability  of  girls  in  his 
tlioughts.     Very  well  he  realized  that  the  con- 


50 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


tralto  was  excliangiiig  significant  glances  with 
tlhe  basso,  and  tiie  young  tenor  openly  smirk- 
ing, yet  he  wove  strain  witliin  strain  of  that 
deliberate  melody,  hoping  tliat  before  he  fin- 
ished she  would  come.  Surely  David  Brown- 
son  had  never  played  in  this  mood  before. 

The  clergyinan,  turning  the  leaves  of  the 
great  Bible,  glanced  up  inquiringly.  Some  of 
the  congregation  craned  their  necks  to  obtain  a 
glimi)se  of  the  organist,  under  the  impression, 
jiossibly,  that  he  had  changed  in  aiijjcarancc 
since  they  last  beheld  him. 

With  one  final,  ill-tempered  crash,  David 
gave  the  word  to  the  contralto  to  take  the  solo 
intended  for  tUb  absent  soprano.  The  con- 
tralto rolled  forth  her  deep,  powerful  notes  ac- 
cordingly. 

A  quick  patter  of  steps,  a  rush  of  garments, 
and  a  girl  entered  the  choir.  With  flushed 
cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes  she  surveyed  the 
situation.  David  Brownson  was  aware  of  her 
approach,  but  he  did  not  permit  himself  to  be 
moved.  It  was  too  late.  She  advanced  quick- 
ly to  his  side. 

"Give  me  the  solo." 

Still  playing,  the  organist  replied, 

"You  are  breathed.  Sit  down  until  the 
psalm." 

"Give  me  the  solo!"  repeated  the  girl,  im- 
periously, at  the  same  time  pulling  his  sleeve. 

David  smiled  grimly ;  he  liked  her  pluck. 
Then  she  stepped  down  into  her  place,  waiting 
for  the  contralto  to  finish,  and  experiencing 
that  nervous  contraction  of  the  throat  peculiar 
to  young  debutantes. 

There  swelled  forth  from  the  St.  Chrysostom 
choir  a  voice  pure  and  fresh  as  a  bird's.  The 
first  notes  were  soft,  shy,  and  exquisitely  trem- 
ulous, like  the  fledgling  essaying  the  song  that 
will  later  resound  through  the  u]ii)er  air ;  then, 
gathering  volume  from  the  very  determination 
of  the  owner,  soared  and  thrilled  with  piercing 
sweetness,  until  they  died  away  in  silveiy  ca- 
dences, guided  by  delicate  chords  from  the  or- 
gan, into  silence. 

A  woman's  voice,  moving  the  heart  to  un- 
tried depths  of  delight  and  pain,  fascinating  un- 
willing senses,  pleasing  even  the  uncultivated 
ear.  No  wonder  Queens  of  Song  have  ruled 
as  Queens  of  State  never  have  done. 

The  girl  nodded  at  David  Brownson  over  her 
shoulder,  and  peeped  down  into  the  church 
through  the  curtains.  A  mischievous  smile 
dimpled  her  cheek  as  slic  s])read  out  her  gloved 
hands  and  inspected  them. 

"  If  old  David  only  knew  .'  Tidy  girls  never 
lose  their  gloves,  and  have  to  rummage  boxes 


for  them.  The  tidy  girls  always  have  their 
worldly  possessions  so  arranged  that  if  they 
have  a  fit  of  wishing  to  wear  collars  and  rib- 
bons in  the  dead  of  night,  they  can  find  those 
articles  without  a  candle." 

An  old  woman,  wearing  an  anti(iiiatcd  shawl 
and  bonnet,  had  listened  to  the  ringing,  with 
her  bony  hands  clasped  tightly  togotlier.  How 
tiic  honest  heart  throbbed  beneaiii  that  faded 
shawl,  which  looked  as  if  it  came  out  of  Noah's 
ark  !  IIow  another  girl's  cheek  flushed  with 
ready  sympathy  down  among  the  congrega- 
tion I 

St.  Chrysostom  was  simply  astonished.  The 
voice  had  never  been  heard  before.  This  was 
David  Brownson's  surprise.  The  battery  of 
eyes  assailed  the  choir  with  "Who  is  it?" 
Then  the  battery  of  eyes  returned  to  the  in- 
vestigation of  the  Haines  family — a  curiosity 
shared  by  the  soprano,  apparently. 

Mrs.  Raines,  carefully  preserved,  inclined  to 
embonpoint — a  soft,  purring,  sleepy  woman, 
with  a  guileless  manner — of  whom  her  world 
remarked  that  she  knew  how  to  use  her  claws. 
The  world's  verdict  was  eminently  vulgar. 
One  could  not  possibly  associate  the  idea  of 
claws  with  Jlrs.  Raines's  plump  hands. 

IMiss  Raines,  stepdaughter,  elderly,  sharp- 
featured,  lame. 

Mr.  Raines,  stepson,  small,  plain,  and  also 
elderly — the  gentleman  Ethel  Ilcarn  had  re- 
belled against  in  spirit  when  Peggy  pronounced 
him  her  future  husband.  It  was  Ethel  Ilearn 
who  sat  gazing  down  on  the  unconscious  object 
of  her  sudden  aversion  now. 

"  He  has  a  bald  spot  on  the  top  of  his  head, 
and  a  mole  on  his  chin.  Dear  me  !  how  ugly. 
Little  sister  says  he  has  such  a  good  face.  I 
would  rather  have  more  beauty  and  less  good- 
ness.    The  other  one  is  splendid." 

The  "other  one"  was  a  handsome  young 
man,  with  fine  figure,  military  carriage,  and 
drooping  flaxen  mustache.  The  head  was  nar- 
row, complexion  pale,  blue  eyes,  keen  and  scru- 
tinizing, but  he  was  well  dressed,  wore  an  eye- 
glass, and  had  a  languid  elegance  of  manner 
very  captivating  to  a  girl's  fancy.  In  a  word, 
Captain  Laccr,  son  of  Mrs,  Raines  by  a  pre- 
vious marriage. 

Tlie  Raines  carriage  stood  before  the  door, 
with  prancing  steeds  in  steel  trappings,  foot- 
man and  coachman  studded  with  buttons.  The 
stepchildren  always  had  walked  to  church. 
Mrs.  Raines  demurred  ;  pedestrianism  did  not 
agree  with  her.  Or  was  it  that  one-half  of  her 
life  having  known  no  equipage,  her  declining 
davs  must  make  the  most  of  one? 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


Said  the  lady,  arranging  her  robe,  and  lean- 
ing back  among  the  cushions  luxuriously, 

"You  7nust  bring  me  that  soj)rano.  Keally, 
she  sang  like  an  angel  I"' 

"Best  go  and  see  her  to-morrow  at  her 
liome,"  suggested  Miss  Raines,  who  possessed 
tlie  simplicity  of  good-breeding. 

Perhaps  the  best  trait  of  tiiis  proud  family 
was  a  lack  of  ostentation.  Mrs.  Raines  was  a 
fresh  tributary,  and  never  wearied  of  playing 
the  role  of  great  lady. 

"My  dear  Hester,  why  not  here?"  slie  in- 
quired, artlessly. 

At  that  moment  David  Brownson  appeared 
with  his  prote'ge,  followed  by  Olive  and  Peggy. 
The  two  gentlemen  stood  beside  the  carriage 
jiassive  spectators. 

"Pray  bring  her  here.  I  am  confident  that 
she  is  the  soprano,"  said  Jlrs.  Raines,  beckoning 
to  the  organist. 

David  complied,  proud  of  the  praise  about 
to  be  bestowed  on  his  pupil.  Commendation 
would  stimulate  her  to  fresh  exertion,  he  felt 
assured  ;  and  although  he  despised  the  flattery 
of  fine  ladies,  he  was  willing  to  hold  this  cup  to 
Ethel's  lips. 

What  the  Raines  party  beheld  was  this  :  The 
church  door  was  in  shadow,  the  building  being 
of  the  approved  mediitval  gloom,  and  from  it 
tlie  girl  came  into  the  broad  light  of  day.  She 
was  the  type  of  American  beauty;  slender  and 
willowy  in  form,  A'ery  beautiful  in  early  youth, 
but  suggestive  of  anxiety  for  the  future.  Her 
features  were  delicately  cut ;  her  skin  of  that 
extraordinary  fairness  which  is  transparent, 
and  varies  with  every  emotion ;   mouth  small. 


It  occurred  to  ]Mrs.  Raines  that  she  would 
vastly  enjoy  finding  a  Jenny  Lind  or  Nilsson 
among  the  peasant-class,  and  become  ])atroness 
of  the  star. 

Ethel  Hearn  had  never  been  in  society  in 
her  life,  but  she  understood  perfectly  well  that 
the  rich  lady  had  not  proposed  calling  on  her, 
the  choir-singer.  She  might  come  up  to  the 
house  as  the  trades-people  did. 

"You  are  very  kind,  madam,"  she  con- 
trived to  say.  Then  she  turned  her  lovely 
eyes  to  the  two  men  appealingly,  as  much 
as  to  question,  "  You  could  not  treat  me 
thus." 

After  that  tlie  Raines  carriage  trundled 
away,  and  tlie  Hearn  girls  took  tlic  path  home- 
ward. All  the  pleasure  of  triuiiijih  had  van- 
islied  from  Ethel's  face. 

"  How  I  hate  to  be  patronized  I  I  will  nev- 
er sing  in  chnrch  again  :  and  wlien  I  go  to  '  the 
house  '  we  shall  know  it." 

"By  Jove  I  what  a  beauty  !"  exclaimed  Cap- 
tain Lacer. 

"Very  pretty,  and  so  lady-like,"  assented 
John  Raines,  who  cared  not  a  straw  whether  a 
handsome  girl  dwelt  at  the  gate  or  in  a  larger 
mansion. 

"She  did  not  say  slic  would  come,"  mused 
Mrs.  Raines. 

"It  would  have  sounded  better  to  have  pro- 
posed visiting  her,"  said  jMiss  Raines,  who  nev- 
er minced  matters. 

"My  dear  Hester,  I  do  not  perceive  that  it 
was  expected," 

"Never  mind,  mamma,  I  will  attend  to  her." 
She  looked  point  blank  at  Captain  Lacer  as 


with  sensitive  curves,  and  short,  haughty  upper  ,  she  said  this. 


lip  ;  hair  neither  red  nor  white,  but  pure  rich 
gold.  The  chief  charm  of  the  fiice  lay  in  the 
eyes ;  for  where  strict  adherence  to  the  caste 
of  blonde  beauty  would  have  made  the  lashes 
paler,  giving  that  rabbity  aspect  so  often  seen, 
a  thick  chestnut  fringe  shaded  large,  deep-gray 
orbs,  whose  only  fault  was  a  sparkling  unsteadi- 
ness of  expression.  Mrs.  Raines  sighed  invol- 
untarily, and  re-arranged  the  black  lace  veil  over 
her  well-rouged  cheeks.  Only  at  one  fleeting 
moment  of  life  can  a  woman  brave  unflinch- 
ingly the  jiitiless  scrutiny  of  the  midday  sun. 

"You  must  permit  us  to  congratulate  you 
on  your  success  to-day.  Your  voice  is  lovely. 
We  will  see  what  can  be  done.  You  must  not 
stay  here.  When  you  have  leisure,  will  you 
come  up  to  the  house  and  sing  for  us  again  ?" 


"Quite  handsome,  only  so  ycna'/ie,"  acqui- 
esced Mrs.  Raines. 

Miss  Raines  smiled.  The  gaucherie  might 
be  applied  elsewhere  in  the  brief  interview 
with  Ethel  Hearn. 

"Perhaps  she  is  as  good  as  we  are." 

"Here?     Impossible." 

"True.  I  forgot  that  we  belonged  to  the 
blood- royal." 

Mrs.  Raines  winced.  Iler  own  father  had 
followed  the  honest  calling  of  pork  contractor. 
She  lapsed  into  silence.  '  She  was  never  guilty 
of  the  rashness  of  quarreling  with  her  step- 
children. 

"Hester,  when  you  were  eighteen  you  re- 
sembled that  girl,"  said  the  brother. 

"I  know,"  replied  Miss  Raines,  quietly. 


-^  '%^i42. 


^■%F 


CHAPTER  XYIL 


AN    UNLUCKY   FAMILY. 


"  /^  OD  gave  to  Etlicl  every  tiling.     She  has 

y^  a  sweet  voice,  plenty  of  wit,  and  all  the 
beauty  tlie  family  could  muster.  It  docs  not 
seem  quite  fair — does  it,  mother?" 

The  speaker  veiled' some  sadness  beneath 
the  merriment  with  which  she  thus  questioned 
the  decrees  of  Providence.  Siie  was  seated  on 
a  low  stool  beside  her  mother's  arm-chair,  and 
they  were  both  gazing  out  at  the  sea. 

A  small,  trimly-built  girl  of  one-and-twenty, 
round-faced,  of  irregular  features,  perhaps,  and 
not  poss?essing  the  dazzling  fairness  of  her  sis- 
ter—  a  face  that  interested  the  most  casual 
observer  by  the  calm  reliance  of  exj)ression, 
which  experience  had  early  imposed  on  the 
young  life.  Olive  Hearn,  the  little  sister,  as 
she  was  familiarly  termed,  served  as  balance- 
wheel  to  that  diminutive  establishment  beyond 
the  beach,  which  shared  the  netd  of  a  head 
with  larger  mansions.  She  was  the  financier, 
and  scrupulously  paid  every  penny  due ;  charm- 
ed tidbits  away  from  the  young  butcher,  to 
tempt  her  mother's  delicate  apjjctite  ;  kept  the 
china  closet  tidy ;  and  concocted  new  dishes 
with  the  aid  of  a  venerable  cook-book,  which 
remained  a  delightful  mystery  to  Peggy- until 
completion.  Sloreovcr,  she  was  chief  dress- 
maker and  nurse.  There  was  a  beautiful  neat- 
ness, a  dainty  precision  about  her,  which  was 
charming.  It  required  a  much  longer  time  to 
arrange  her  collar  and  neck-tic  than  those  of 
hap-hazard  Ethel ;  but,  when  once  adjusted,  the 
result  was  perfect. 

"If  ever  I  saw  an  old  maid  I"  Ethel  would 
exclaim,  giving  her  ribbon  a  skillful  twist  that 
produced  an  effect  which  was  all  the  wearer 
desired. 

I  do  not  use  the  familiar  praise,  often  be- 
stowed on  meek  heroines,  that  Olive  Ilearn's 
brown  hair  was  smooth,  because  it  was  not. 
Fashion  required  a  crinkly  condition,  and  Olive 


knew  the  fashion  as  well  as  any  body.  Why 
not?  Had  she  lived  in  the  wilderness  she 
would  have  found  the  farmers'  daughters  wor- 
rying their  hard-working  parents  to  purchase 
finery,  and  she  had  the  superior  advantage  of 
dwelling  on  the  outskirts  of  a  summer  resort 
instead. 

To  search  the  calendars  of  crime  in  these 
United  States  would  be  to  find  the  source  of 
much  evil  —  Dress.  Harassed  fathers,  embar- 
rassed husbands,  desperate  lovers,  each  with 
this  goad  spurring  them  to  destruction. 

A  seed  of  the  poison-plant  had  winged  its 
way  into  the  Ilearn  home.  It  took  root  in  dif- 
ferent ways.  The  little  sister  cut  and  basted 
the  rich  ladies  she  saw  in  her  mental  eye,  like 
the  doll's  dress-maker,  without  a  thought  of 
envy  or  resentment.  An  old  al])aca  gown 
might  be  refurbished  and  trimmed  like  the 
rich  lady's  silk,  by  her  deft  fingers.  Ethel, 
wrathfully  rebellious,  would  toss  her  worn  frock 
into  a  corner  until  her  anger  against  Fate  cool- 
ed a  trifle. 

"As  for  me,  I  am  fit  only  to  be  housekeeper, 
I  suppose.  A  jog-trot  I"  said  the  girl,  pursuing 
her  train  of  thought  aloud, 

"Never  underrate  yourself,  my  dear,"  re- 
plied her  mother,  gently.  "  God  sent  you  to 
mc  when  I  should  have  utterly  failed  without 
you." 

Mrs.  Ilearn's  voice  trembled.  She  was  a 
woman  wasted  by  one  of  those  nervous  dis- 
eases which  have  their  source  in  some  preying 
sorrow.  Ilcr  aspect  was  melancholy  and  ap- 
prehensive. She  always  glanced  eagerly  at  an 
ojiening  door,  like  a  person  crushed  by  a  ter- 
rible blow,  yet  anticipating  another,  without 
the  physical  courage  to  endure  it.  Pain  had 
blanched  her  hair,  sharpened  her  features,  and 
hollowed  her  eyes,  was  revealed  by  her  weary, 
listless  motions.     To  such  a  wrecked  nature 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


Peggy  was  frieuu  much  more  than  servant, 
while  Olive  was  the  spiritual  bulwark. 

A  groat  many  years  before,  the  sorrow  had 
come  which  shattered  this  life.  Mr.  Albert 
Hearn  discussed  his  breakfast,  kissed  the  chil- 
dren, lingered  a  moment  to  fondle  the  curls  of 
his  daughter  Ethel,  and  took  his  way  down 
town.  Many  persons  remembered  how  he  look- 
ed that  morning,  good-humored,  handsome,  the 
best-dressed  man  on  the  street.  Jared  Hearn 
especially  recollected,  for  his  generous  brother 
had  promised  to  loan  him  a  considerable  sum 
toward  purchasing  the  factory  up  in  the  coun- 
try, whicli  his  soul  coveted,  on  that  day. 

Mr.  Albert  Hearn  entered  the  spacious  build- 
ing where  the  Russian  Empire  Insurance  Com- 
pany transacted  business,  of  which  he  was  pres- 
ident, and  opened  a  letter  on  his  desk.  The 
crerk  wlio  brought  in  the  morning  mail  observed 
that  he  was  deadly  pale,  and  rested  his  head  on 
his  hand.  In  those  brief  moments  the  wheel 
had  revolved,  crushing  Albert  Hearn.  After- 
ward he  was  seen  writing  busily.  At  noon  he 
passed  out,  and  this  side  of  the  grave  no  one 
ever  expects  to  see  Albert  Hearn  again.  He 
vanished.  In  those  days  such  a  sensation  as 
his  flight  occasioned  was  rare.  Now  the  shock 
is  far  more  frequently  felt.  Let  those  without 
sin,  or  who  have  never  known  temptation,  blame 
him.  Bitten  by  the  mania  of  speculation,  he 
had  staked  a  little,  and  lost — appropriated  the 
funds  in  his  charge  to  cover  deficiencies  from 
time  to  time,  hoping  to  recover  the  whole 
amount  eventually,  and  so  had  stood  for  a  year 
with  the  sand  crumbling  beneath  his  feet,  ever 
nearer  the  precipice  down  which  he  was  des- 
tined to  slide.  The  letter  had  taught  him  that 
the  position  was  no  longer  tenable.  In  one 
blinding  flash  the  light  had  conie  to  him,  and 
it  is  possible  that  the  weak  man  did  not  until 
then  realize  his  sin.  He  confessed  to  his  wife, 
in  a  hasty  note,  that  he  should  be  a  greater  dis- 
grace to  his  family  if  he  remained  to  be  pub- 
licly shamed  than  if  he  fled.  He  reminded 
her  that  the  home  in  which  they  lived  was  her 
own  property.  He  commended  her  to  the  care 
of  his  brothers.  He  promised  to  exert  every 
energy  to  repair  the  havoc  done  in  time,  and 
return  to  her  again. 

This  was  the  blow  which  fell  on  Albert 
Hearn's  wife  at  the  age  of  twenty-seven  years, 
and  crushed  her.  She  was  a  light-hearted  lady 
of  mercurial  temperament,  with  a  strain  of 
Irish  wit  in  her  composition,  passionately  at- 
tached to  her  husband,  and  always  well  treated 
by  her  world. 

Jared   and  Richard  Hearn  met  in   solemn 


conclave.  The  jdea  of  helpless  affliction  in 
the  orphaned  family,  the  consideration  of  the 
service  the  disgraced  brother  had  ever  done 
them,  found  no  place  in  tlieir  thoughts.  In- 
deed, they  were  disposed  to  regard  the  very  e.K- 
istcnce  of  the  Albert  Hearn  branch  as  a  griev- 
ance. They  were  ambitious  men,  and  they 
stood  on  the  plane  of  selfish  respectability. 
Albert  had  dishonored  them.  Moreover,  the 
Russian  Empire  Insurance  Company,  virtuous- 
ly indignant  that  it  should  have  been  deceived 
by  so  genteel  a  president,  had  a  clear  right  to 
track  and  arrest  Albert  Hearn  as  a  common 
felon,  uidess  something  was  done.  The  two 
brothers  reflected,  knitted  their  brows,  pursed 
up  their  lips,  and  took  their  way  to  the  sister- 
in-law's  residence.  i,, 

It  certainly  was  not  so  framed  in  the  gentle- 
men's minds,  for  they  prided  themselves  on 
their  clemency,  but  it  served  as  an  outlet  to 
their  righteous  indignation  to  visit  it  on  the 
household  of  the  late  defiiulter. 

The  house  was  precisely  in  the  same  condi- 
tion it  had  been  on  the  morning  when  the  father 
went  away.  The  blinds  were  drawn  close,  to 
exclude  the  daylight,  and  there  was  an  aspect 
of  suspended  animation,  as  if  the  sources  of  life 
were  frozen,  more  sad  than  confusion  would 
have  been.  Jared  Hearn  glanced  sourly  at  the 
lace  curtains,  the  rich  hangings,  the  graceful  or- 
naments grouped  about  the  handsome  parlors. 
He  was  a  plain  man,  and  had  not  yet  arrived 
at  the  grandeur  of  velvet  carpets. 

Mrs.  Hearn  came  down  stairs,  with  her  little 
children  trooping  after.  Instinct  taught  her 
mother's  heart  that  their  presence  would  soften 
the  resentment  of  the  visitors  toward  the  absent 
father.  She  essayed  to  smile — a  pitiful  mock- 
eiy  on  the  pale  face — and  extended  her  hand. 
Neither  of  her  visitors  rose  from  their  seats,  or 
noticed  her  gestures  of  welcome.  They  had 
something  more  important  to  consider  just  then 
than  their  manners.  Mrs.  Hearn  would  find  it 
useless  to  propitiate  them.  It  must  be  infer- 
red that  the  Hearn  politeness  -was  not  a  gentle 
courtesy  emanating  from  the  heart,  but  a  mask 
assumed  "  only  when  it  would  pay." 

The  desolate  wife  shivered.  In  her  previous 
experience,  it  had  always  been  worth  while  for 
her  brother-in-law  to  respect  her,  and  she  had 
unconsciously  accepted  the  spurious  coin  of  re- 
gard for  pure  gold.  Even  now  she  had  faith  in 
them,  while  they  distrusted  tlie  motive  even  of 
her  greeting. 

.  "Send  those  children  away,"  said  Richard 
Hearn,  drawing  off  one  lavender  glove  and  ex- 
amining his  fair,  well-kept  hand  critically,  on 


60 


JOSEril  THE  JEW. 


which  sparkled  a  diamond  liiij;.  Kichard  Ilcarn 
hated  children. 

An  angry  spot  j^lowcd  on  each  of  the  moth- 
er's wliite  cheeks  as  she  bade  them  run  out. 
Miss  Ethel,  aged  six  years,  a  marvel  of  i)retti- 
ness,  in  white  frock  and  pink  boots,  made  a 
grimace  suggestive  of  defiance  at  her  rcsjiecta- 
ble  uncle. 

"  You  never  did  know  how  to  manage  ;  they 
ride  rough-shod  of  every  tiling  here,"  observed 
Richard,  virtuously  restraining  himself  from 
any  other  demonstration  of  resentment  than  a 
frown  at  the  daring  child. 

Mrs.  Ilearn  regarded  him  steadily,  and  com- 
pressed her  quivering  lips.  The  juvenile  ele- 
ment was  banished. 

"The  children  are  well  enough," interposed 
Jarcd,  stroking  his  chin,  to  whicli  was  append- 
ed a  wisp  of  gray  beard,  aptly  termed  goatee, 
for  it  imparted  to  his  face  a  very  goat-like  as- 
pect. "  We've  got  something  more  important 
to  talk  about,  I  calculate.  Your  husband  has 
disgraced  us,  and  we  are  proud  of  our  good 
name.  I  don't  reckon  that  we  have  had  a 
thief  or  felon  on  our  list  before.  There's  no 
good  in  crying ;  it  won't  mend  matters.  I 
don't  say,  though,  that  you  ain't  to  blame — 
very  much  to  blame." 

Mrs.  Ilearn  raised  her  face  from  the  hand- 
kerchief in  which  she  had  hidden  it — not  her 
tears,  for  her  grief  was  as  yet  tearless — with 
some  faint  perception  of  humor  in  Jared 
Hearn's  words.  Her  wretchedness  was  op- 
pressive enough,  but  the  peculiar  susceptibility 
of  her  organization  to  detect  the  ludicrous  cast 
that  glimmer  of  light  over  her  features.  Much 
was  also  due  to  the  overstrained  tension  of  her 
nerves  ;  for  three  days  and  nights  she  had 
paced  the  floor  of  her  chamber,  refusing  all 
consolation. 

Hysteria  whispered  in  her  car,  "What  pos- 
sible ingenuity  on  Kichard  Hearn's  part  can 
twist  this  matter  into  your  fault?  What  have 
you  done  except  to  be  a  loving  wife  and  moth- 
er, considering  business  matters  beyond  your 
ken  ?" 

"Any  woman  is  to  blame  who  lets  her  hus- 
band run  on  so,  without  saving  up  and  teach- 
ing him  economy.  I  always  knew  that  a  break- 
down would  come  sooner  or  later.  I've  said 
as  much  to  wife  a  hundred  times.  Look  at 
all  this  trumpery  bought  with  the  money  of 
other  people!" 

"Did  you  come  to  tell  mc  what  is  to  be 
done?"'  inquired  I\Irs.  Ilearn,  dreary  and  rigid 
again. 

Richard  Ileavn  lounged  opposite,  with  one 


hand  thrust  deep  in  his  pocket,  and  the  other 
twirling  a  tooth-pick.  His  attitude  was  far 
more  fitting  for  a  hotel  reading-room  than  a 
lady's  parlor.  Mrs.  Hcarn  scarcely  recognized 
him,  for  he  boasted  of  a  reputation  as  "ladies' 
man." 

"Yes,"  he  chimed  in,  dropping  the  tooth- 
])ick  on  the  carpet.  "We  have  got  to  pay  the 
fifty  thousand  dollars.  A  nice  business!  The 
alternative,  also,  is  pleasant  to  contemplate — 
Albert  in  prison." 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  asked  the  wife,  bowing  her 
head. 

"Taken  precious  good  care  to  get  out  of 
the  way ;  and  I  advise  him  never  to  return, 
even  if  the  Russian  Empire  Insurance  Compa- 
ny does  agree  to  compound  the  matter,"  sneer- 
ed Richard. 

"Never  to  return  I"  repeated  Mrs.  Hearn 
mechanically,  almost  absently,  as  if  the  full 
meaning  of  the  terrible  words  had  not  dawned 
on  her. 

"We  can  ill  afford  it,  but  our  brother's  dis- 
honesty compels  us  to  pay  this  enormous  sum. 
Of  course  the  house  must  go  for  what  it  will 
bring."  Thus  spake  Jared  Ilearn,  bringing 
the  palms  of  his  hands  together  with  a  prelim- 
inary business-like  gesture. 

!Mrs.  Hearn  started. 

"The  house  is  mine!" 

"And  the  money  is  our  own,"  cried  the 
brother,  simultaneously.  "  Is  it  easier  for  us 
to  part  with  it  than  you  ?" 

There  was  a  profound  silence  in  the  room. 
A  fierce  conflict  raged  in  this  woman's  breast. 
She  knew  her  right  to  the  home,  endeared  to 
her  by  countless  ties;  her  husband  bade  her 
retain  it.  If  she  relinquished  this  shelter,  her 
children  were  cast  adrift  on  the  world.  Their 
future  was  to  be  decided  by  the  step.  On  the 
other  hand,  to  be  galled  by  debt  to  these  men, 
pitiless  to  her  as  long  as  they  retained  their 
own  position,  was  to  leave  uneffaced  a  stain  on 
her  husband's  honor  which  lay  in  her  power  to 
remove. 

"  Take  the  house,"  she  said  at  length. 
"And  now  oblige  me,  gentlemen,  by  leaving 
me  alone." 

The  brothers  departed  with  alacrity;  they 
had  gained  their  point. 

"Of  course  you  will  go  into  the  country 
somewiicrc,  and  live  within  your  means,"  was 
Jared  Hearn's  parting  advice. 

She  made  no  response.  The  iron  had  en- 
tered into  her  soul.  A  low,  shuddering  cry 
rang  through  the  silent  house  ;  later,  and  Peg- 
gy found  her. 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


CI 


"We  shall  do  our  duty  by  them,"  said  Jarcd 
to  his  wife. 

"  Let  'em  go  to  work,"  she  replied. 

Mrs.  Hearn,  in  her  secret  soul,  did  not  ob- 
ject to  seeing  the  rich,  extravagant  llearns 
brought  down  a  peg,  but  she  took  refuge  in  a 
belief  that  misfortune  would  develop  to  their 
good  somehow,  as  afflictions  arc  ordered  above. 
The  house  and  furniture  were  sold  for  twenty- 
five  thousand  dollars,  which  Mrs.  Ilearn  hurled 
at  her  creditors  with  a  feverish  eagerness.  This 
sale  left  her  with  an  income  of  fifteen  hundred 
dollars,  and  no  home.  The  matter  was  hushed 
np,  forgotten  in  the  busmess  community,  where 
fresh  waves  break  ever  over  sunken  rocks. 

Tlie  Kussian  Empire  Insurance  Company 
announced  itself  satisfied  witii  tlie  result,  and 
the  Ilearn  brothers  gained  considerable  glory 
in  the  transaction.  Mrs.  Ilearn 's  sacrifice  was 
never  known.  At  that  time  appeared  in  the 
leading  journals  of  England,  France,  Germany, 
Italy,  and  South  America,  a  paragrajih  warning 
A.  II.  of  Xew  York  never  to  return. 

If  the  wife  had  known  the  place  of  his  exile, 
she  would  have  taken  her  pittance  to  share 
witli  him.  She  did  not  dare  to  risk  her  all  in 
a  perilous  search  whicli  might  prove  fruitless, 
and  v.aited  for  tidings,  lie  was  ever  the  same 
to  her  pardoning,  pitying  love. 

"Peggy,  you  must  do  better  for  yourself 
now,"  she  said,  looking  around  the  dismantled 
house. 

"  Florence  Ilearn,  you  may  put  me  out  and 
shet  the  door  jest  because  I  hain't  got  a  soul  to 
care  about  besides  them  children,  but  I'll  come 
and  sit  on  the  door-step,  sure  as  you're  alive." 

From  which  easy  mode  of  address  it  will  be 
seen  tliat  Mrs.  Hearn  was  too  familiar  with  her 
nurse,  or  that  it  is  impossible  to  make  a  serv- 
ant of  a  "free-born"  American  woman,  with 
the  power  of  rising  lying  ever  dormant  in  her 
nature. 

"There  is  your  brother,"objectedMrs.  Ilearn. 
"  He  may  leave  you  his  money  if  you  go  to  take 
care  of  him." 

"Let  him  !  He  hasn't  given  me  a  fip,  liv- 
ing these  ten  years,"  returned  Peggy,  still  un- 
convinced. 

The  Albert  Hearns  hid  themselves,  much  to 
the  satisfaction  of  their  relatives.  They  changed 
their  abiding  -  place,  always  hoping  to  better 
their  condition,  with  the  restlessness  which  will 
cling  to  us  while  we  are  a  nomad  peo])le.  When 
the  parks  of  Colorado  are  permanently  settled, 
and  the  Pacific  Railroad  is  a  line  of  thriving 
cities,  tlie  moss  of  family  tradition  and  ghostly 
legends  may  attach  to  our  names ;  until  then. 


the  generations  still  living  in  the  home  of  fa- 
ther and  grandfather  may  easily  be  counted. 
We  are  like  the  hermit-crabs,  always  deserting 
our  shells  to  seek  a  larger  mansion. 

For  two  years  tha  llearns  boarded  in  the 
shoe-maker's  little  red  house  under  the  hill,  and 
the  children  grew  to  assimilate  with  the  shock- 
headed  urchins  of  the  household.  Mrs.  Ilearn 
was  never  the  same  after  the  interview  with 
her  brothers-in-law.  For  the  first  time  a  cup 
of  humiliation  was  held  to  her  lijjs,  and  imbit- 
tered  her  whole  after-hfe.  Gradually  the  en- 
tire charge  of  the  family  devolved  on  Peggy. 
The  nurse  had  made  herself  the  messenger  to 
tlie  Hearns  during  the  sale  of  the  house,  and 
had  given  them  "apiece  of  her  mind"  at  part- 
ing rarely  spiced  with  feminine  indignation. 
The  spirit  of  the  Old  Bay  State  had  been  strong 
within  Peggy  from  tlie  cradle ;  she  was  not  to 
be  put  down  by  any  body. 

"Why  don't  you  buy  a  new  gown,  Peggy?" 
asked  Miss  Ethel.  At  an  early  age  she  was 
mindful  of  such  matters. 

"Because  I  can't  afford  it,"  replied  Peggy. 

"Why  don't  you  ask  your  rich  brother  to 
give  you  one?"  said  the  little  girl,  with  the 
calm  persistency  children  display  in  pinning 
older  people. 

"Law,  child,  he's  dead  I" 

"Your  brother  dead,  and  you  have  never 
heard  from  him  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ilearn. 

"He  ain't  likely  to  say  nothin'  after  he's 
dead,  is  he?     Folks  don't,  generally." 

"  Oh,  my  poor  Peggy !  I  hoped  that  he 
would  have  provided  for  your  old  age." 

"I  guess  I  can  take  care  of  my  own  old 
age." 

Mrs.  Hearn  said  no  more.  She  inferred 
that  Peggy's  pride  was  more  hurt  than  she  was 
disposed  to  confess  by  this  slight  on  the  part  of 
her  nearest  relative. 

Peggy,  when  alone,  gave*  vent  to  a  nervous 
laugh.  "  I  never  told  a  lie  before.  I  alius 
hated  liars.  The  Lord  forgive  me.  I  reckon 
He  will,  this  time." 

The  summer  waned,  and  autumn  brought  no 
vivid  splendor  of  changing  foliage — only  drip- 
ping, monotonous  rain.  Olive  Ilearn,  a  seri- 
ous, thoughtful  young  girl,  stood  by  the  window 
one  day  when  Peggy  went  to  the  post-office. 
It  was  always  a  moment  of  eager  suspense  to 
the  mother.  0  God,  if  some  tidings  might 
come  I 

A  fog  hung  low  over  the  brown  hills,  pools  of 
water  stood  in  the  road,  leaves  fluttered  from 
the  trees  to  increase  the  harvest  of  sodden, 
reeking  vegetation  already   under  foot.     The 


62 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


bell  of  the  little  white  meeting-house  was  toll-  1      The   Hcarn   girls   grew   up   entirely  alone, 
ing  slowly  for  a  passing  soul,  and  all  the  village    Such  an  influence  does  a  mother  wield,  that 


paused  to  listen. 

Peggy  walked  along  the  ])ath  at  a  brisk  pace. 
There  was  a  letter  for  Mrs.  Hearn.  With 
whitening  lips  and  trembling  hands,  she  open- 
ed it.  The  missive  was  in  an  unknown  hand- 
writing, and  briefly  stated  that  she  could  occu- 
•p/  a  house  for  life  in  the  town  of  Shcllport. 

"  Oh  !  the  sea.  To  live  beside  the  water," 
inurmiired  the  sick  woman. 

"Who  done  it?"  inquired  Peggy,  abruptly. 

"  One  of  my  husband's  family,  probably ; 
and  I  am  grateful."  She  was  none  the  less  glad 
that  she  need  not  thank  tlicm,  the  form  of  tlrc 
benefit  being  anonymous. 

Then  tlie  Ilearns  went  to  dwell  in  tlie  lit- 
tle house  beyond  tlie  beach.  Here  the  mother 
■  discovered  her  position  to  be  a  peculiar  one. 
The  dividing-line  between  classes  was  more 
distinctly  defined  in  this  town  than  is  usual  in 
America.  The  native  population  devoted  ev- 
ery energy  to  making  money  out  of  summer 
visitors.  Such  an  interest  develops  in  a  town 
sordid  avarice  in  undue  proportion  to  other 
qualities.  Not  a  shop  or  a  house,  from  the  big 
hotels  to  the  pretty  villa,  but  was  a  "catch- 
penny "  for  the  season.  The  mortal  born  in 
Shcllport  might  anywiiere  be  known  by  the 
speculative,  hungry  intelligence  of  the  glance 
which  he  bestowed  on  a  stranger.  To  insnare 
unwary  birds,  Shcllport  plotted  in  the  drow- 
sy, quiet  winter,  spread  tempting  nets  in  the 
spring-time,  and  counted  its  gains,  with  many 
chuckles  of  satisfaction,  in  the  autumn.  To 
such  a  community  the  Hearns  occupied  a  false 
position.  They  were  too  poor  to  hold  an  equal- 
ity with  the 'summer  visitors,  yet  above  the 
greedy  towns-people. 

Jared  and  Richard  Hearn  would  have  sneer- 
ed at  the  false  pretensions  of  this  feeble  motlier 
in  dreading  to  have  her  children  brought  in  con- 
tact with  a  coarser  element  of  mind  than  her 
own.  It  would  have  afforded  the  uncles  satis- 
faction to  have  Olive  and  Ethel  established  in 
life  as  the  wives  of  respectable  Shcllport  gro- 
cers and  bakers,  provided  their  world  never 
knew.  And  how  should  their  world  know? 
We  are  too  busy  climbing  upward  ourselves  to 
search  for  the  wounded  ones  who  have  crept 
away  out  of  siglit  to  die. 

According  to  Mrs.  Jared's  theory,  people  al- 
ways found  their  proper  level  after  a  while. 
The  lap^of  years  never  softened  the  segy  of 
injury  fcreby  the  brothers  that  Albert  hlpdis- 
graiied  them,  and  forced  them  to  pay  the  price 
of  disgrace.  ^ 


her  choice  became  their  own.  If  they  longed 
for  youthful  society,  it  was  not  such  as  they 
could  attain.  A  part  of  the  false  position  they 
occujiied  was  this  proud  isolation.  Not  that 
Shclljiort  cared.  The  Hearns  were  evidently 
poor,  did  not  live  in  style,  or  entertain  hand- 
somely ;  and  Shcllport,  measuring  peojjle  al- 
ways by  the  depth  of  their  ])urse,  cared  not  a 
straw  whether  they  lived  or  died.  I  doubt  but 
such  seclusion  in  a  small  town  is  more  painful 
than  the  prying  curiosity  of  villages. 

The  element  of  coquetry  in  Ethel  Hearn  was 
powerful ;  the  incense  of  admiration  from  any 
source  gratified  her  vanity.  Herein  laj'  her 
danger.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Chateaux  en 
Espagne  of  girlhood  —  a  solitary  girliiood  — 
while  they  were  as  absurdly  ambitious  as  pos- 
sible, saved  her  from  stooping  to  sip  at  every 
brackish  pool.  The  like  of  robes  worn  by 
Ethel  Hearn  were  never  wrought  in  earthly 
loom  ;  before  the  gems  of  her  pantre  those  of 
royalty  might  well  fade ;  and  Versailles  has  no 
more  stately  salons  than  those  through  which 
she  swept,  as  she  sat,  with  h;Jr-closed  eyes,  on 
the  garret  stair,  in  a  patch  of  warm  sunshine, 
studying  her  French  lesson. 

The  education  of  the  sisters  was  curious. 
Tlie  mother  shrank  from  the  ])ublic  school — a 
small,  dilapidated  fountain  of  learning  at  the 
best.  3'eggy  uplfeld  her,  despite  her  own 
strong  common  sense,  and  respect  for  learning. 

"They  must  be  taught  so  that  they  can  shift 
for  themselves,  mebbe.  They  may  need  to 
earn  their  own  bread,  and  never  go  back  on 
them  uncles  anyhow,"  said  Peggy. 

Then  the  nurse  set  herself  to  accomplishing 
it.  No  danger  of  contaminating  her  by  a  jour- 
ney of  discovery  through  the  main  street  or  by- 
ways. She  found  an  Italian  lady,  who,  strand- 
ed in  a  foreign  land  of  which  she  had  heard 
fabulous  promises,  and  was  now  reajiing  the 
sad  reality,  agreed  to  instruct  the  Hearn  girls 
several  hours  daily  for  a  moderate  sum.  She 
educated  them  after  her  fashion.  Latin  be- 
came a  second  mother-tongue.  Ethel  could 
glide  musically  into  the  liquid  verse  of  Petrarch, 
when  her  knowledge  of  her  own  national  his- 
tory was  far  from  extensive. 

The  English  branches  devolved  on  tlie  moth- 
er; and  as  attacks  of  illness  were  frequent  with 
her,  there  were  sad  gaps  in  the  lessons,  until 
Olive  undertook  to  combine  student  and  teach- 
er, by  puzzling  her  steady  little  head  over  un- 
finished tasks  at  odd  moments. 

Tliere  was  a  small  case  of  worn,  much-used 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


C3 


books  in  the  mother's  room,  which  brought 
more  real  pleasure  tlian  many  a  library  bound 
in  gohl  and  calf-skin. 

"No  matter  how  poor  I  am,  no  matter 
tliough  the  prosperous  of  my  own  time  will  not 
enter  my  obscure  dwelling ;  if  learned  men 
and  poets  will  enter  and  take  up  their  abode 
under  my  roof;  if  Milton  will  cross  my  thresli- 
old  to  sing  to  mc  of  Paradise,  and  Shakspcare 
open  to  me  the  worlds  of  imagination  and  the 
workings  of  tlic  human  heart,  I  shall  not  pine 
for  want  of  intellectual  companionship,  though 
excluded  from  what  is  called  the  best  society 
in  the  place  where  I  live." 

Shellport  boasted  a  circulating  library,  kept 
liy  a  queer  old  man,  where  the  Ilearn  girls 
brought  to  the  light  of  day  many  a  stray  ro- 
mance, which  was  read  aloud  in  the  mother's 
presence,  and  furnished  food  for  endless  discus- 
sion while  in  progress  of  perusal,  there  being  a 
code  of  honor  that  no  one  should  peep  ahead 
in  the  narrative. 

Tiie  daughters  were  thus  comparatively  well 
provided  with  mental  culture ;  but  Nicholas 
Ilearn,  the  male  element,  was  a  source  of  per- 
plexity to  the  whole  household  :  a  red-haired 
boy,  with  a  droll  unconcerned  face,  and  a  tend- 
ency to  frayed  elbows.  It  was  impossible  to 
impose  responsibility  on  him,  for  he  shed  care 
from  the  feathers  of  his  nature  as  readily  as  a 
bird  does  moisture. 

Nicholas  Ilearn  had  no  pride,  no  self-respect, 
as  Peggy  repeatedly  assured  him.  He  con- 
sorted with  the  lowest  boys  of  the  town,  with- 
out feeling  himself  one  whit  lowered  in  the  so- 
cial scale,  apparently ;  he  was  discovered  to  be 
on  friendly  terms  with  a  pugilist,  and  he  main- 
tained truly  amicable  relations  with  a  ferocious 
saloon-keeper.  He  went  to  the  public  school 
cheerfully,  learned  what  he  chose,  and  no  power 
of  persuasion  could  make  him  learn  that  which 
he  did  not  choose.  The  future  of  such  a  boy 
presented  discouragement  even  to  the  mind  of 
Peggy.  In  the  mean  while  she  gave  him 
grumblingly  all  the  stray  pennies  collected  in 
a  tin  bank  on  the  kitchen  chimney-piece.  To 
his  credit  be  it  said,  that  sorely  as  he  needed 
pennies  at  times,  Nicholas  Ilearn  never  touch- 
ed the  bank  without  Peggy's  permission.  He 
was  healthy,  noisy,  fond  of  his  mother,  with  a 
subdued  wonder,  when  he  entered  her  room  on 
tiptoe,  that  any  one  could  endure  such  a  pent- 
up  life,  instead  of  skurrying  across  the  beach, 
and  climbing  about  the  docks  as  he  did  ;  bois- 
terously affectionate  toward  his  nurse,  and  ad- 
dicted to  taunting  the  girls.  The  son  came 
like  a  whirlwind  into  the  quiet  house,  slam- 


ming doors,  jarring  the  china,  ana  upsetting  ev- 
ery article  which  happened  to  be  alilt.  There 
was  one  redeeming  trait  that  Nicholas  devel- 
oped very  early — an  electric  buoyancy  of  hope 
and  courage,  the  gift  of  perfectly  contenting  him- 
self with  very  little.  Such  trials  as  came  to  his 
boyhood  could  no  more  submerge  his  red  head 
than  a  cork  can  be  forced  to  bottom.  At  the 
age  of  fourteen,  he  was  a  homely,  common 
youth,  without  a  trace  of  his  father's  elegance 
about  him.  He  formed  his  own  resolution,  for 
he  seldom  consulted  any  body.  He  was  going 
to  college.  As  a  preliminary  step,  he  went 
straight  to  the  clergyman  of  St.  Chrysostom. 

The  rector  was  a  cold,  precise  man,  of  studi- 
ous habit,  who  satisfied  himself  with  reaching 
the  heart  of  his  people  from  the  pulpit  on  Sun- 
day, and  then  disappeared  into  his  study  for 
the  week. 

According  to  his  lights,  the  Reverend  Hex- 
ham White  was  strictly  conscientious,  and  he 
believed  he  was  doing  a  great  duty  by  the 
world,  in  compiling  a  work  on  Egyptian  relics. 
Thus,  while  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  manu- 
script, many  shadows  flitted  across  the  Shell- 
port  sun  of  which  he  knew  nothing,  and  the 
grief  of  warm  human  lives  was  bitter,  because 
the  pilot  was  not  at  the  helm  in  the  hour  of 
need. 

"  I  am  going  to  college,"  said  Nicholas  Hearn, 
entering  on  the  subject  of  his  visit  without  pre- 
amble. "  I  don't  expect  that  I  have  learned 
near  enough  to  pass  an  examination.  You 
must  know  lots  ;  will  you  teach  mc?  I  haven't 
got  any  money." 

The  Reverend  Hexham  White  had  never 
heard  the  like  of  such  simple  audacity  in  his 
life.  He  looked  at  his  pile  of  writings  in  a 
bewildered  way,  then  his  glance  strayed  to  an 
engraving  of  Christ  blessing  little  children  on 
the  opposite  wall.     The  Christian  conquered. 

"  Come  here  to-morrow  morning,  and  I  will 
find  j-on  a  place  to  study." 

Nicholas  went  promptly,  and  he  got  on  fa- 
mously with  the  clergyman  afterward.  The 
Reverend  Hexham  White  fitted  him  thorough- 
ly for  college,  and  he  had  an  apt  pupil,  for  the 
lad's  heart  was  in  the  work.  Nicholas  confess- 
ed to  Peggy  that  he  was  studying  with  the  rec- 
tor, but  prevailed  upon  her  to  keep  the  matter 
a  secret.  This  step  taken,  he  thanked  and 
left  his  kind  friend.  The.rector  was  not  made 
aware  that  Nicholas  Hearn  had  not  the  first 
dollar  with  which  to  enter  college  jUhe  boy 
decided  not  to  "bother "his  instructorTurther. 

The  latter  knew  abstractedly  tliat  a  family 
of  the  name  of  Ilearn  dwelt  in  a  house  bevond 


G4 


JOSErH  THE  JEW. 


the  beacli,  but  tliey  might  as  well  have  lived 
in  anotlier  hemisphere.  Every  Sabbath  he  dis- 
pensed the  weekly  ration  of  spiritual  food  to 
serious,  devout  Olive,  in  a  remote  seat  of  St. 
Chrysostom's  church,  but  the  family  did  not 
rent  a  prominent  pew — could  not  allbrd  to  do 
so,  in  fact,  and  tiiey  were  to  him  as  jjliantoms. 
The  inference  that  he  recognized  only  his  rich 
parishioners  would  be  an  unjust  one  ;  but  he 
walked  aloof,  and  was  not  likely  to  see  objects 
not  forced  ujion  him.  His  sympathy  was  not 
a  divining-rod,  pointing  the  way  to  tlie  hidden 
needs  of  the  soul. 

Ah  I  Reverend  IIe.\ham  White,  I  behold  thee 
now,  sparse,  dry,  with  close-cropped  gray  hair, 
holding  the  golden  sands  in  thy  cold  hands, 
and  seeing  dimly,  oh,  so  dimly,  through  a  nar- 
row casement,  the  boundless  radiance  of  God's 
day. 

At  tliis  time  Jared  and  liicliard  Ilearn  re- 
ceived tlieir  first  direct  communication  from 
Albert's  family  since  I\Irs.  Ilearn  left  her  home. 
It  was  from  their  nephew  asking  them  to  ad- 
vance the  money  requisite  to  send  him  to  col- 
lege. Neither  of  them  were  college-bred  men. 
Nicholas,  entirely  ignorant  of  the  wrath  his 
presumption  kindled,  got  letters  containing  se- 
vere advice  about  learning  a  trade  or  going 
into  a  store,  and  some  sarcasms  as  to  his  lofty 
aspirations,  which  failed  to  singe  him  in  the 
least.  He  was  not  hurt,  as  his  sisters  would 
have  been,  but  a  little  surprised  considering 


that  such  rich  men  might  "  give  a  fellow  a 
lift;"  then  he  quietly  destroyed  the  letters, 
without  saying  a  word  to  any  one.  He  had  a 
double  motive  for  this  secrecy.  He  would  not 
have  the  family  income  pinched,  the  mother's 
luxuries  curtailed,  to  give  him  the  money.  He 
kept  his  own  counsel,  and  awaited  his  oppor- 
tunity. Indeed,  the  opportunity  might  not 
have  occurred  at  all  to  another  boy  as  it  did  to 
Nicholas  Ilearn.  At  a  very  early  age  he  be- 
lieved in  the  adage  that  Providence  gives  us 
nuts,  expecting  us  to  crack  them,  and  he  went 
along  his  path  searching  eagerly  for  the  nuts. 
Wealth  did  not  possess  the  great  value  in  his 
eyes  which  might  have  been  expected,  from 
the  beautiful  glimpses  he  obtained.  He  saw 
rich  boys  riding  sleek  ponies,  in  natty  top-boots 
and  velvet  caps,  while  he  trudged  through  the 
dust;  and  it  did  occur  to  him  that  it  would  be 
nice  to  ride,  yet  the  thought  had  no  bitterness 
of  discontent.  The  rich  boys  were  like  the 
aristolochia,  growing  in  a  good  soil,  warmed 
by  the  benignant  sunlight,  and  laving  delicate 
stems  in  the  river's  flow.  Nicholas  was  the 
houseleek,  flourishing  on  a  particle  of  sand  in 
a  sterile  spot. 

He  scarcely  knew  what  lie  wanted,  except  to 
go  to  college.  Beyond  that  point  his  thoughts 
whirled  with  dazzling  flashes  and  scintillations. 
Tlius  matters  stood  when  Nicholas  es])ied  his 
nut  on  a  high  branch,  climbed,  and  grasped  it. 
He  went  to  college. 


CHAPTER  XYIIL 


THE   MOTHERS   STORY. 


THE  day  after  Etliel  Hearn's  tiiumpli  at  St. 
Chrysostoin's  Easter  celebration  was  her 
nineteenth  birthday.  Sirs.  Ilearn  and  Peggy 
endeavored  to  keep  up  the  anniversaries  of  the 
year  to  the  children  all  the  more  tenderly  be- 
cause there  was  no  one  else  to  remember  them. 
Tlie  ingenuity  of  the  two  women  was  won- 
derful. A  chain  of  pleasant  associations  was 
made  to  bind  the  little  household  together,  the 
links  kept  bright  by  this  friction  of  remem- 
brance. 

Etlicl's  birthday  differed  from  previous  ones 
only  in  tlie  matter  of  the  mother's  gift,  which 
tlic  latter  made  a  mystery. 

"Our  child  has  proved  herself  a  distinguish- 
ed singer,  and  her  present  must  be  musical," 
she  said,  smiling.  "  I  shall  defer  giving  it  un- 
til evening,  when  I  will  tell  you  a  story." 

The  mother's  chief  talent  lay  in  story-tell- 
ing. Her  descriptions  were  graphic  ;  she  car- 
ried the  thread  of  the  narration  so  skillfully 
that  the  interest  never  flagged ;  and,  owing  to 
a  latent  dramatic  power,  her  look  and  gesture 
portrayed  the  character  described.  From  ear- 
ly infancy  the  children  had  clustered  about 
her  knee,  to  catch  the  words  which  fell  from 
her  lips. 

There  was  a  dinner  compounded  wholly  of 
Ethel's  favorite  dishes,  and  Mrs.  Hearn  was 
sufficiently  well  to  preside,  A  green  parrot 
was  borne  home  in  triumph  by  Nicholas  from 
the  wharves,  supposed  to  have  been  obtained 
in  barter  with  a  sailor ;  a  shawl,  knitted  sur- 
reptitiously, was  presented  by  the  little  sister ; 
and  a  pair  of  beautiful  kid  gloves  from  Peggy. 

Then,  when  twilight  gathered  in  the  moth- 
er's room,  she  produced  a  small  teak-wood  box, 
kept  all  these  years  from  prying  young  eyes,  as 
she  fondly  imagined,  and  bade  Ethel  open  it. 
The  girl  obeyed,  and  drew  forth  the  gold  cord, 
5 


with  tlic  pendant  attached,  which  she  had  worn 
on  the  night  of  Mr.  Raines's  arrival.  The  pend- 
ent was  a  beryl,  oblong  in  shape,  framed  in  dull, 
yellow  gold,  which  showed  the  rude  work  of 
the  Oriental  smith's  hammer.  On  the  surface 
of  the  stone  were  exquisitely  engraved  these 
delicate  Persian  characters : 


"I  have  reserved  until  to-night,  children, 
telling  you  a  story,  which  seems  like  a  fairy 
tale,  yet  is  entirely  true." 

The  two  girls  nestled  close  to  the  arm-chair, 
which  was  drawn  up  to  the  window,  from 
which  the  faint  rose-tints  of  the  dying  day 
could  be  seen  tinging  sea  and  sky.  Nicholas 
held  his  head  between  his  two  hands,  as  if  he 
feared  it  would  fly  off.  The  son's  manners 
were  not  less  angular  after  a  sojourn  at  college, 
and  the  means  which  granted  hira  this  advan- 
tage were  permitted  to  remain  a  secret  to  his 
sisters.  Peggy,  plying  her  needles  busily,  sat 
just  within  the  door. 

"  My  grandfather  was  an  Englishman.  Wc 
are  all  of  direct  English  descent,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  my  own  father.  My  grandfather 
was  an  honest,  brave  young  man,  whose  worth 
was  appreciated  by  his  employers.  They  made 
him  captain  of  a  merchant-vessel." 

"  What  did  he  look  like  ?"  asked  Olive. 

"  Sly  mother  had  a  quaint  ivory  portrait 
of  him  given  to  her,  for  the  reason  that  she 
had  never  seen  him.  He  was  ruddy,  fair,  and 
strong  ;  not  over  two-and-thirty  when —  But 
I  must  not  anticipate  my  story.  He  married 
a  young  girl  of  his  native  town  on  the  Devon- 
shire coast,  the  physician's  daughter;  and  soon 


CG 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


after,  in  all  the  pride  of  his  new  dignity,  sailed 
nwav  to  tiic  East,  commanding  a  large  ship. 
Montlis  chipsed  ;  my  mother  was  born ;  and 
letters  came  in  wliicli  tiie  sailor  dcscriljcd  the 
ports  he  visited.  Then  tidings  rciiched  not 
only  the  little  sea-port  under  the  hill,  hut  the 
pulilic,  through  the  news])aper3.  lie  had  ren- 
dered n  service  to  a  rajah,  one  of  those  cruel 
despots  who  wield  such  tyrannical  power  over 
their  subjects. 

"The  rajah,  enthroned  in  his  jialacc,  with 
walls  of  polished  chunam,  jiaiutcd  in  curious 
designs  of  animals  and  fruits,  and  carved  ve- 
randas, wafe  ])erinitled  by  his  British  rulers  to 
reap  a  harvest  from  J'oppy,  rice,  and  cotton 
fields.  His  city  was  beautiful  to  gaze  upon 
at  a  distance,  for  the  softening  atmosphere 
made  tlie  buildings  appear  like  dazzling  mar- 
ble, with  slender  towers,  gilded  sj)ires,  and 
cupolas  crowning  the  Moslem  mosques.  But 
an  entrance  speedily  dispelled  these  illusions. 
The  houses  were  plaster  and  whitewash ;  dirt 
and  decay  were  everywhere  visible  ;  groups  of 
ragged  soldiery  lounged  about  gate-ways ;  in 
the  narrow  streets  mere  cells  of  shops  disjilay- 
ed  rich  wares  of  gold  embroideries,  precious 
stones,  and  sober  elejjhants  wended  their  way 
along. 

"  The  rajah's  palace  was  protected  by  high 
walls  and  many  courts.  There  he  lived,  chew- 
ing bctcl-nut,  anointing  himself  with  delicious 
perfumes,  chaining  tigers  brought  from  the  jun- 
gle, and  decking  them  with  gold  collars,  and 
torturing  his  subjects.  Wherever  he  went,  the 
people  fell  prostrate  before  him,  and  slaves 
trembled  at  his  frown,  for  the  prince  was  a  vio- 
lent man.  It  hapi)oned  that  an  old  priest  de- 
fied him ;  the  Brahman,  insolent  in  the  secu- 
rity of  spiritual  power,  protested  that  the  ruler 
had  encroached  on  the  rights  of  the  temple. 
The  position  was  dangerous.  The  rajah  had 
never  been  thwarted,  and,  moreover,  rebellion 
among  the  people  might  be  incited  by  a  priest. 
The  holy  man  disappeared.  For  a  time  won- 
der and  fear  prevailed  in  the  city,  then  the  ex- 
citement subsided.  The  priesthood  maintain- 
ed quiet.  At  this  juncture  my  grandfather  ar- 
rived, and  became  an  interested  spectator  of  a 
religious  festival  then  transpiring.  The  rajah 
was  exceedingly  devout,  and  took  a  prominent 
part  in  the  services. 

"A  fiiquir  was  brought  before  him,  wlio  prom- 
ised to  counterfeit  death  for  six  months  in  the 
interest  of  his  religion,  provided  he  could  be 
entombed  in  the  inner  court  of  the  palace. 
The  rajah  assented.  My  grandfiither  watch- 
ed the  proceedings,  disbelieving  in  the  fanatic, 


and,  as  an  Englishman,  was  permitted  a  fore- 
most place' of  observation.  The  facpiir  pas- 
sively submitted  to  being  placed  in  a  bag,  his 
ears  and  nostrils  stopi)ed  with  wax,  his  tongue 
thrust  back  to  close  the  mouth,  and  buried  in 
the  court,  with  a  stone  jjlaced  above  him  and 
sealed.  This  singular  experiment  of  suspend- 
ed animation  has  been  frequently  tried  in  the 
East  with  success,  and  the  faquir  unearthed 
alive  after  the  lapse  of  months.  My  grandfa- 
ther did  not  credit  it.  He  had  an  interview 
with  the  rajah,  which  resulted  in  his  remain- 
ing at  the  palace  overnight.  This  was  an  un- 
usual concession ;  but  the  cause  was  urgent. 
Tiie  Englishman  requested  to  be  allowed  to 
watch  tiie  buried  faquir,  entirely  without  the 
cognizance  of  the  household,  and  also  that  no 
guard  should  be  placed  about  the  tomb,  as  was 
customary  for  several  nights  after  the  inter- 
ment of  a  fanatic. 

"  My  grandfather  placed  himself  in  the  shad- 
ow of  the  veranda  leading  from  his  apartment, 
which  was  also  in  the  main  building  occupied  by 
the  prince,  and  fixed  his  gaze  on  the  tomb  in 
the  centre  of  the  court.  At  midnight  he  was 
rewarded  by  seeing  two  figures  glide  from  op- 
l)osite  directions  toward  the  sci)ulchrc.  They 
advanced  fearfully,  often  glancing  around,  and 
proceeded  to  remove  the  stone  slab.  My  grand- 
father recognized  them  as  slaves  of  the  pal- 
ace. The  faquir  was  raised  and  placed  on  the 
ground,  where  he  remained  in  a  sitting  pos- 
ture, motionless.  One  of  the  slaves  poured 
water  on  his  head,  and  soon  he  entirely  re- 
vived. The  slaves  vanished,  and  my  grand- 
father supposed  that  the  fanatic  would  make 
good  his  escape. 

"Imagine  his  astonishment  when  the  faquir 
approached,  holding  some  glittering  object  in 
his  hand.  The  faquir  crawled  along,  and  final- 
ly disappeared  in  the  darkness,  but  not  until 
the  Englishman  had  seen  that  he  grasped  a 
dagger.  Thoroughly  aroused  to  danger,  my 
grandfather  followed.  At  first  he  fancied  that 
he  might  have  personally  excited  the  faquir's 
anger  as  an  unbeliever,  and  that  he  was  now 
seeking  revenge.  When  the  Englishman  reach- 
ed the  entrance  to  the  rajah's  quarters,  he 
was  dumb  with  amazement.  The  slaves  who 
guarded  the  place  were  lying  in  a  heavy  stupor 
on  their  mats.  They  had  evidently  been  drug- 
ged. No  doubt  remained  of  the  faquir's  mo- 
tive ;  he  intended  to  assassinate  the  prince — a 
vengeance  probably  plotted  by  the  priesthood. 

"  He  stepped  over  the  prostrate  servants  as 
if  he  did  not  fear  arousing  them,  and  entered 
the  rajah's  inner  chamber.     The  poniard  was 


.fOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


67 


arrested  by  a  strong  hand  ;  the  prince  o])ened 
his  eyes  to  bcliold  the  faquir  writhing  in  the 
grasp  of  the  unbeliever.  The  holy  man  broke 
away  and  fled.  You  may  be  sure  that  my 
grandfather  did  not  identify  any  of  the  wretch- 
ed slaves,  but  the  rajah  made  him  a  magniK- 
cent  present.  All  that  a  man  has  will  he  give 
for  his  life ;  and  the  rajah  was  no  exception  to 
the  rule,  although  my  grandfather  would  have 
defended  any  fellow-creature  in  distress.  Let- 
ters were  written  home  descriptive  of  the  gift." 

Jlrs.  Ilearn  paused,  and  looked  out  on  the 
sea,  following  one  of  those  trains  of  tliouglit 
whicli  bring  a  host  of  doubts  to  anxious  minds  ; 
misgivings  as  to  the  wisdom  of  God  in  avert- 
ing to  other  channels  the  fulfillment  of  our 
right.  As  if  mortals  might  trace  tlie  whole 
pattern  of  which  tliey  are  single  threads  !  iSho 
reflected  how  ditlerent  the  children's  lot  would 
be  at  that  moment  if  the  rajah's  gift  had  de- 
scended to  them,  or  even  a  portion  of  it. 

"  What  was  it  ?"  questioned  the  girls,  eagerly. 

"A  diamond?"  hazarded  Nicholas. 

"A  power  of  money,  or  an  Injy  shawl,"  sug- 
gested Peggy,  rubbing  her  nose  with  a  knit- 
ting-needle. 

"It  was  a  necklace  of  flexible  gold,  my 
grandfather  wrote,  and  one  blaze  of  precious 
stones.  The  clasp  was  composed  of  large  dia- 
monds ;  on  every  link  glittered  incrustations 
of  emeralds,  rubies,  pearls,  amethysts,  and  sap- 
phires. Three  pendants  were  attached  to  the 
clasp,  of  inferior  value,  but  greatly  prized  as 
talismans.  Indeed  the  rajah  seemed  to  con- 
sider it  the  greatest  mark  of  favor  to  part  with 
the  inscribed  stones,  as  superstition  ascribed 
rare  virtues  to  them.  My  grandfather  detacli- 
ed  this  one,  had  a  scribe  translate  it,  and  sent 
it  home :  '0  JJieu  preservez  vioi  des  r/ens  qui  ne 
suivent  pas  vos  chemins  droits.'  " 

Ethel  repeated  the  motto  mnsingly. 

"  This  gift  my  grandfather  felt  assured  would 
bring  him  a  fortune.  If  he  could  not  sell  it  to 
some  monarch  who  could  afford  so  costly  a  toy, 
the  separated  gems  would  be  of  great  value. 
After  that  he  sailed  for  home,  and  the  sky 
clouded  just  when  my  grandmother  hoped  anx- 
iety was  past.  The  Royal  Maid  was  missing. 
She  had  touched  at  Cape  Town,  and  sailing 
away  toward  St.  Helena,  vanished  forever  from 
mortal  eyes.  A  ship  picked  up  a  fragment  of 
wreck  known  to  belong  to  the  Roijal  Maid. 
Tiien  my  grandmother  yielded  to  her  grief. 
'Perished  at  sea!'  was  the  knell  that  rang  on 
many  a  widowed  heart.  A  year  later  a  let- 
ter came  from  an  unexpected  quarter  —  South 
America.     JIv  grandfather  had  been  wrecked 


in  a  typhoon,  and  had  floated  for  days  on  a 
hastily-constructed  raft,  with  a  Jew  and  four 
seamen." 

"They  lived  on  hard -tack  and  very  little 
water,  and  after  a  while  began  to  think  of  eat- 
ing each  other  up,"  interposed  Nicholas,  tri- 
umphantly. 

"  Horrible  !"  shuddered  the  girls. 

"They  were  sighted  by  a  vessel  bound  for 
South  America,  and  were  taken  to  port  safely. 
My  grandfather  wrote  that  he  had  secured  the 
rajah's  gift  about  his  body.  While  waiting  for 
a  homeward-bound  vessel,  a  disabled  ship  ar- 
rived, the  captain  and  mate  having  died  of  a 
fever.  Jly  grandfather  accepted  the  command. 
These  were  his  last  words.  The  ship  arrived, 
with  scanty  crew  and  no  captain.  Oft'  the 
West  Indies  they  were  overhauled  by  a  buc- 
caneer, one  of  the  pirates  who  infested  the  re- 
gion then  much  as  the  Malays  do  the  Indian 
Ocean.  This  robber  swept  off  every  coin  of 
gold  and  silver,  and  he  cruelly  shot  my  grand- 
father. One  of  the  sailors  told  my  grandmoth- 
er that  the'  Jew  had  a  surprising  quantity  of 
jewels  secreted  about  his  person,  but  the  buc- 
caneer stripped  him.  So,  my  dears,  the  brave 
sailor  Avas  killed,  and  the  necklace  lost  to  us 
forever.  I  give  Ethel  the  pendant  which  was 
sent  before,  and  hope  that  it  may  prove  indeed 
a  talisman." 

Mrs.  Hearn  had  scarcely  ceased  speaking 
when  the  gate  swung  open  to  admit  a  woman, 
who  walked  slowly  up  the  little  path  with  the 
aid  of  a  gold-headed  cane.  Once  she  paused 
and  looked  back,  her  sombre  form  clearly  de- 
fined against  the  evening  sky,  then  approached 
the  door. 

Perhaps  the  woman  advancing  on  their  path 
was  as  unconscious  as  the  Hearns  how  much 
she  had  to  do  with  their  future  lives. 

A  visitor  was  an  event.  The  invalid  trem- 
bled, and  shrank  back  into  her  chair.  The  sis- 
ters exchanged  a  glance  of  wonder,  and  gave 
to  their  attire  a  rapid,  feminine  smooth  of  the 
hand.  Nicholas  alone  was  entirely  unmoved, 
and  sat  whistling  softly,  thinking  of  the  bucca- 
neer.    Peggy  strode  to  Mrs.  Hearn's  side. 

"  Don't  you  fret,"  she  said,  soothingly ;  "you 
sha'n't  see  any  body  you  ain't  a  mind  to." 

"Excuse  me  as  not  being  well  enough  to  see 
strangers ;  say  any  thing  to  keep  her  away," 
whispered  Mrs.  Hearn.  • 

The  stranger,  ignorant  of  the  tumult  she 
had  occasioned,  rang  the  sharp,  vibrating  little 
bell,  and  was  ushered  into  the  tiny  parlor  by 
Peggy.  It  was  Miss  Raines.  The  two  girls 
went  in  shyly.     What  could  Miss  Raines,  res- 


GS 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


idcnt  of  a  great  house,  wish  of  them  ?  Miss 
liiiincs  wished  a  pieat  deal.  She  scanned  tlie 
!<isters  witii  the  comprehensive  ghmce  of  a 
woman  of  the  world,  whicli  notes  every  detail 
while  apjicaring  to  see  nothing. 

Her  face  was  attenuated,  not  wholly  amiable 
in  expression,  faded,  with  cold  eyes,  and  hair 
like  Ethel's  rippling  above  her  forehead.  It 
was  as  if  youth  rested,  lingered,  in  a  golden 
halo  about  the  head  of  Hester  Haines.  She 
was  jilainly  attired,  yet  there  was  an  atmos- 
l)here  of  wealth  about  her — the  glimmer  of  a 
ring,  the  whiteness  of  the  wasted,  transparent 
hands.  No  lady  understood  better  how  to  be- 
have well  than  Miss  Haines  when  she  was  so 
minded ;  but  she  was  not  always  so  minded. 
She  liked  to  thrust  little  pins  of  sarcasm  into 
people,  then  look  unconscious.  In  five  min- 
utes she  was  chatting  with  the  Hearn  girls  in 
the  most  charming,  easy  vein  imaginable. 

"  Young  ladies,  I  should  feel  myself  slighted 
that  you  have  not  called  on  me,  did  I  not  know 
you  were  occupied  with  an  invalid  mother. 
Her  right  is  before  all  other  considerations. 
I  am  sure  you  will  forgive  me  for  invading 
your  privacy ;  I  am  lonely,  and  there  are  .so 
few  ladies  here." 

She  addressed  Olive  chief!}',  but  her  gaze 
rested  on  Ethel.  What  did  she  want  with 
Ethel  ?  What  was  the  secret  of  her  interest  ? 
The  little  sister  asked  herself  these  questions 
with  a  thrill  of  alarm.  Ethel  Hearn  was  con- 
sidered so  precious  a  treasure  by  her  family 
that  it  need  not  have  sur])rised  them  had  she 
been  stolen  outright.  Olive  was  flattered  by 
the  genuine  kindness  of  Jliss  Raines,  in  which 


she  also  detected  an  amend  for  her  stepmoth- 
er's wounding  condescension.  After  weighing 
these  considerations,  the  little  sister  was  still 
dissatisfied.  Why  did  the  lady,  looking  into 
Ethel's  lovely  face,  almost  forget  herself,  an- 
swer at  random,  as  if  she  saw  some  fair  picture 
reflected  in  the  soft  eyes  ?  Ethel  was  puzzled, 
although  Miss  Haines's  curiously  expressed  ad- 
miration brouglit  the  dawning  of  a  subtle  con- 
sciousness. Through  every  nerve-fibre  tingled 
the  first  delicate  glow  of  ajiproaching  intox- 
ication :  she  was  beautiful,  and  beauty  was 
power. 

The  visit  was  a  long  one,  as  if  Miss  Raines 
enjoyed  a  gossip ;  and  when  she  was  gone  it 
was  understood  that  she  had  invited  the  Hearn 
girls  to  drive  with  her  the  next  day. 

Peggy  threw  all  her  ballast  of  practical  sense 
overboard,  and  climbed  to  the  clouds  of  grati- 
fied vanity.  She  would  show  Shellport  what 
her  cliildren  were!  A  real  lady  had  noticed 
them.  Fortliwith  ensued  a  brisk  discussion  as 
to  what  should  be  worn  on  the  momentous  oc- 
casion. Nicholas,  with  his  hands  in  his  pock- 
ets, strolled  around  his  sisters  with  that  in- 
creased respect  one  feels  for  a  relative  who  has 
met  with  some  success  in  life. 

The  poor  mother  thought,  "  Oh,  my  misera- 
ble self!  I  have  lived  so  long  alone  that  I 
shrink  from  a  stranger.  If  she  will  only  do 
something  for  my  children!" 

There  is  no  position  more  painful  for  a  wom- 
an, the  mother  of  a  family,  than  to  be  swept 
down  from  her  proper  social  position  by  ruin 
and  disgrace,  with  the  years  rolling  on.  Thus 
ended  Ethel's  birthdav. 


CEAPTER  XIX. 


THE  PICTURE. 


WHAT  would  you  like  to  be  ?" 
"A  princess." 

"That  is  sheer  nonsense.  Wliat  do  you  im- 
agine the  lot  of  a  princess  to  be  ?" 

"It  is  useless  for  me  to  tell  yon,  if  it  is  non- 
sense. Would  it  not  be  grand  to  have  power, 
to  be  respected,  to  be  above  the  vulgar  rude- 
ness of  the  crowd,  who  jostle  you  if  you  are 
not  rich?     I  hate  common  people  !" 

"Wc  all  have  our  dreams,  child.  Tell  me 
yours." 

"  I  hardly  know.  Something  between  a  fairy 
palace  and  a  Fifth  Avenue  mansion,  I  fancy." 

"Do  you  mean  that  yon  like  money?"  in- 
quired Miss  Raines,  with  some  wonder  in  her 
tone. 

"Undoubtedly  I  do."  The  color  dawned 
brightly  in  Ethel's  cheek.  After  all  her  bra- 
vado, she  was  not  very  successful. 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  Miss  Raines, 
simply. 

"You  never  needed  to,  I  suppose," respond- 
ed Ethel,  subdued. 

"I  am  not  sure  that  you  have  correct  views 
of  life,  but  I  shall  always  be  interested  in  you. 
I  never  intend  to  lose  you  again."  She  spoke 
the  words  with  a  peculiar,  vibrating  distinct- 
ness which  startled  her  companion. 

"You  are  very  good," murmured  Ethel,  tra- 
cing a  pattern  of  the  carpet  with  her  foot. 

"  Bah !  I  am  n'ot  good.  I  am  not  sweet 
or  amiable — not  even  a  valuable  person,  that 
I  have  ever  discovered.  I  was  cut  down  in 
my  prime  by  an  accident.  Well !  wc  will  not 
speak  of  that.  You  are  very  good"  (mim- 
icking Etliel's  words  perfectly).  "  Where  did 
you  learn  that  conventionality  ?" 

The  girl  made  no  reply.  She  was  embar- 
rassed. A  degree  of  intimacy  had  sprung  up 
between  Miss  Raines  and  the  Ilearn  familv. 


She  sent  the  invalid  flowers,  she  invited  the 
daughters  to  visit  her,  but  she  never  presented 
them  to  the  notice  of  her  stepmother. 

Miss  Raines's  apartments  were  simple  in 
appointment  to  the  very  verge  of  plainness ; 
there  was  even  a  lack  of  furniture  to  the  eye 
accustomed  to  the  overcrowding  usual  in  our 
houses.  Mrs.  Raines's  drawing-room  might 
blossom  with  the  redundant  splendor  of  crim- 
son satin  ottomans  blockading  every  step  of 
advance  ;  the  boudoir  of  Miss  Raines  had  only 
a  few  slender  little  chairs,  delicate  water-color 
pictures  on  the  tinted  walls,  rich  brown  hang- 
ings. As  with  Miss  Raines's  own  person, 
sharp  angulaVities  were  concealed  by  flowing 
outlines,  and  thus  saved  from  severity.  Her 
maid  alone  ever  saw  the  lady's  form ;  there 
was  always  some  clinging  drapery  of  rich  shawl 
or  many-folded  lace  about  her  shoulders.  The 
distinct  impress  of  her  own  individuality  was 
on  all  her  surroundings,  which,  avoiding  stiff- 
ness and  luxury,  mingled  the  grotesque,  odd, 
and  beautiful  in  abrupt  contrast. 

"Pray  do  not  attempt  to  convert  me  to  one 
style,  one  reign,"  she  would  exclaim.  "I  should 
like  a  suggestion — a  mere  hint  of  all  ages  and 
lands  brought  together  within  my  small  bound- 
aries." The  result  was  that  China  and  Italy 
gazed  at  each  other  across  the  room ;  Louis 
Quatorze  cabinets  and  the  feather-work  of  the 
Incas  were  placed  in  juxtaposition.  She  now 
rose,  and  placed  a  hand  on  each  of  the  girl's 
shoulders. 

"Will  you  do  something  to  oblige  me?"  she 
asked,  playfully. 

"Any  thing,"  returned  Ethel,  gratefully. 

The  result  of  Miss  Raines's  whim  was  that 
Ethel  stood  against  the  dark  background  of 
the  curtains,  wearing  a  narrow  gown  of  shim- 
mering silk,  with  fair  round  arms  and  shoul- 


70 


JOSEPH  TIIK  JEW. 


ilu-rs  icvcaled,  lier  hair  gathcicd  back,  and  a 
rose  placed  above  one  car. 

"That  will  do,"  said  Miss  Raines,  critically. 

The  maid,  a  demure  Alsatian,  brought  a 
large  family  portrait,  in  a  massive  gilt  frame. 
The  mistress  knocked  the  canvas  out  with  her 
cane,  pushed  her  ancestor  unceremoniously  into 
a  corner,  and  held  the  frame  before  Ethel. 

''I  sail  be'ze  support,"  said  the  maid,  hold- 
ing the  frame  Atlas  fashion.  "Mademoiselle 
sail  be  so  good  as  to  put  shawl  over  me — so!" 

At  a  siiort  distance  the  illusion  was  perfect. 
Ths  birds  chirped  and  trilled,  the  world  of  gar- 
den and  lawn  without  was  all  perfume,  motion, 
glad  life.  In  the  room  was  jjcrfect  silence; 
Ethel  in  the  frame,  the  maid  patiently  kneel- 
ing. Miss  Raines  standing,  with  clasped  hands, 
gazing  at  her  lost  youth.  The  present  receded. 
Time  vanished.  Even  the  girl,  unconscious  of 
the  depths  of  human  grief  stirred,  felt  a  faint 
pulsation  of  awe  steal  over  her.  It  seemed  as 
if  Miss  Raines  would  never  move  again — had 
petrified  into  an  attitude  of  regret,  a  sadness 
which  softened  her  face  into  tremulous,  dreamy 
rapture,  yet  held  her  spell-bound.  The  maid 
creaked  uneasily;  Ethel  felt  a  numb  weariness 
in  every  limb. 

"  One  moment  more,  I  beg." 

Miss  Raines  went  out,  and  returned  with  her 


brother.  "Look,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the 
living  portrait. 

Mr.  Raines  did  look  long  and  earnestly. 
Ethel  being  flesh  and  blood  instead  of  canvas, 
flushed ;  then  amusement  aff"orded  by  the  maid's 
attitude  overcame  her  gravity,  and  she  laifghed 
irreprcssibly.  The  light  on  her  face  was  like 
a  rift  in  the  clouds  of  memory  to  the  brother 
and  sister. 

"  My  dear  Hester,  is  this  best?"  he  inquired. 

Miss  Raines  elevated  her  eyebrows  comical- 
ly. "Why  not?  Only  I  have  tired  ilic  poor 
Jliild." 

Ethel,  in  her  quaint  dress,  slid  down  on  the 
stool  of  the  cabinet  piano,  and  glided  into  a 
low,  sweet  cadence,  possibly  with  a  view  to  ex- 
orcise evil  spirits.  Her  fingers  wandered  over 
the  white  keys ;  she  breathed  forth,  not  a  trivi- 
al song,  worn  by  a  thousand  repetitions,  but  the 
wooing,  soft  utterance  of  her  own  soul,  filling 
the  room  with  tender  hope.  The  harmony 
fell  like  balm  on  the  wounded  soul  of  Hester 
Raines. 

"  Child,  you  may  understand  my  liking  for 
you  by-and-by.  I  don't  expect  it  now.  1  do 
not  even  ask  you  to  like  me  ;  only  be  patient." 

Surely  the  world  is  full  of  marvels !  Miss 
Raines  had  asked  Ethel  Hearn  to  be  patient, 
and  try  to  like  her. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


CAPTAIN    LACER, 


<'T  T 

JL  fr( 


THINK  we  shall  obtain  a  better  view 
Tora  the  far  rock.  Please  come.  Grant 
me  that  much,  my  time  is  so  short." 

Thus  spoke  Captain  Lacer,  in  the  tender 
June  twilight.  He  had  met  Ethel  quite  acci- 
dentally, on  the  way  from  Miss  Haines,  and 
joined  her.  Nor  was  it  the  first  time.  In- 
deed the  young  lady  had  learned  to  expect  an 
escort  down  tlie  sheltered  avenue,  and  found  it 
altogether  pleasant. 

"  I  will  go  half-way,"  she  laughed,  not  in- 
sensible to  the  flattery  of  the  invitation. 

Ethel  Ilearn  was  just  at  that  perilous  crisis 
in  her  youth  when  she  was  ready  to  fi\ll  in  love 
with  any  person  in  the  garb  of  gentleman,  since 
vani^ty  and  the  entire  novelty  of  the  situation 
would  temporarily  blind  her  to  the  true  in- 
stincts of  the  heart.  Had  fate  given  her  the 
opportunity,  she  would  have  been  a  coquette. 
Was  she  not  to  enjoy  her  chance  now  ?  The 
captain  was  handsome,  gentle  in  manner,  and 
respectfully  admired  her.  So  the  two  young 
people  strolled  along  the  sands,  the  soft  obscu- 
rity folding  the  water-line  in  front,  and  closing 
noiselessly  behind.  '  The  evening  seemed  like 
life,  the  past  a  dream,  the  future  a  wish. 

*'  Strange  how  we  are  brought  together.  Is 
it  destin\-  ?"  asked  the  young  man,  with  tender 
attuning  of  mood  and  voice  to  the  hour.  He 
drew  nearer  to  his  companion  as  he  spoke ; 
they  were  the  only  moving  objects  in  sight. 

"  I  suppose  it  must  be  the  destiny  of  good 
or  evil.  Oh,  look  at  the  gull  catching  his  sup- 
per." Ethel  edged  away  from  him  almost  im- 
perceptibly. She  was  ignorant,  but  she  had 
nice  instincts.  The  allusion  to  the  gull  was  in- 
opportune ;  her  cheeks  burned  at  the  thought 
of  her  awkwardness,  but  sentiment  made  her 
uncomfortable.  It  was  a  weapon  she  dared 
not  handle,  yet  dreaded  to  be  considered  un- 
educated in  its  use. 


The  captain  was  aware  of  the  repulse,  with- 
out appearing  to  perceive  it;  but  he  was  too 
wary  a  tactician  to  press  an  advantage  yet. 
He  turned  the  current  of  talk  cleverly  on  to 
sea-birds,  of  all  things  in  the  world,  and  even 
skipped  a  stone  at  the  diver  in  a  boyish  f:ish- 
ion,  which  wholly  diverted  Ethel.  Then  he 
returned  swiftly  with, 

"  I  have  found  your  favorite  violets,  after 
searching  the  garden  over.  May  I  put  them 
in  your  hair — ^just  once  ?  No  ?  Well,  I  must 
carry  them  instead.  Are  you  cold  ?  Such  a 
flimsy  covering." 

He  drew  the  fleecy  shawl  closer  about  her, 
with  a  lingering  toucli-  The  girl  was  very 
fair,  and  tempted  caresses.  She  smiled  bright- 
ly, and  glanced  up  into  his  faee.  It  was  nice 
to  be  taken  care  of  in  that  fashion,  and  quite 
different  from  Peggy's  prosaic  chidings  con- 
cerning night  air. 

"Will  you  answer  a  question  frankly?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Two  months  ago  we  were  ignorant  of  each 
other's  natures — " 

"And  now?"  interposed  EtheL 

"  I  never  intend  to  lose  sight  of  you  again," 
said  Captain  Lacer,  firmly. 

"  Indeed  !  What  if  we  had  remained  igno- 
rant to  the  end  ?  The  world  would  have  still 
moved,  I  suppose." 

"  Ridicule  me  as  much  as  you  choose.  Miss 
Ethel,'"  he  returned,  seriously.  "No  doubt 
I  am  very  absurd.  I  am  not  such  an  idiot 
as  to  fancy  that  you  cared  —  I  mean  that  it 
makes  any  diff'erence  to  you  having  ever 
met  me.  I  was  alluding  to  my  own  good-for- 
tune." 

They  took  ten  steps  in  silence ;  then  Ethel 
stole  a  glance  at  him  through  her  lashes. 
Was  he  angry?  How  proud  and  handsome 
he  looked  !     What  a  noble  carriage,  with  the 


72 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


liead  erect !     tSlie  repented  having  vexed  him.    voice  kindled  fire  in  his  veins.     Propinquity 


What  would  he  tliink  of  her  ? 

"  I  am  glad,  too,"  softly,  and  a  little  shyly. 
"Are  you,  really,  Ethel  ?     Tell  me—" 
But  Ethel  would  tell  nothing.     She  sprang 

up  the  rock,  and  stood  on  a  jutting  edge  liglit- 


brouglit  inevitable  fascination. 

"  Would  you  grant  me  a  favor  if  I  asked  it?" 
searching  the  gray  eyes  for  his  answer. 

•"Perhaps." 

"What  a  guarded  assent.      You  arc  so  cold 


ly.    The  evening  breeze  fanning  tlie  sea  seem-    to  me!     My  request  is  that  you  keep  these  vi- 


ed to  sway  her  slender  form,  and  she  trilled  a 
weird  little  siren  strain,  (.'aptain  Lacer  was 
watching  her  curiously ;  but  for  the  first  time 
that  night  she  reached  beyond  her  companion. 
She  sang  to  the  ocean  that  touched  the  brink 
of  far-distant  lands  ;  to  the  mysterious  depths 
where  forests  grow,  branches  of  purple  fuci, 
blue  and  green  alga%  above  a  carpet  woven  of 
silky  mosses,  and  where  phosphorescence  illu- 
minates the  dim  halls  with  stars  and  quivering 
bands  of  flame  from  moving  creatures.  Who 
has  not  spent  a  season  in  an  undulating  range 
of  country,  fresh  and  pleasant  to  the  eye,  yet 
where  a  weariness,  a  longing,  comes  after  a 
time — an  aridity  of  all  the  senses  ?  So  a  mill- 
pond,  wind-ruffled,  produces  sudden  ecstasy, 
and  explains  the  want.  The  desire  is  for  wa- 
ter ;  the  senses  are  atliirst  for  a  wide,  change- 
ful sweep  of  river  or  lake.  Is  it  not  Ruskin 
who  affirms  tliat  a  picture  without  water  pro- 
duces a  sense  of  suflbcation  ?  As  the  mount- 
ains stir  the  souls  of  the  highland  people,  so 
the  ocean  had  educated  the  Hearn  girls.  They 
never  wearied  of  it.  In  tliis  theatre  tragedies 
of  passion  were  enacted,  Mith  crushing  billows 
and  spray  clouds,  while  comedy  smiled  in  dan- 
cing wavelets,  bearing  toy -ships  of  the  chil- 
dren. 

The  sisters  liked  to  linger  on  the  edge  of 
the  storm,  as  it  were,  to  feel  themselves  the 
whirling  plaything  of  the  advancing  tempest 
of  scudding  clouds.  Wlien  the  blue  dome  of 
sky  Avas  reflected  in  sapi)hire  depths  below,  and 
the  air  seemed  liquid  sunshine,  they  danced 
along,  instinct  with  the  pleasure  of  the  day. 

"  Oh,  how  nice  it  is  to  live  in  such  weather," 
Ethel  would  exclaim,  tlie  enjoyment  active, 
buoyant,  stimulating. 

"Miss  Ethel,  it  is  growing  late — and  pardon 
me  for  the  suggestion — but  should  we  not  re- 
turn?" 

Here  was  a  check  to  the  wayward  song  in- 
deed !  To  be  lured  on  to  the  distant  rock,  and 
then  reminded  by  the  gentleman  of  the  lateness 
of  the  hour!  Captain  Lacer  was  not  as  desir- 
ous of  recalling  Etiiel  to  a  consideration  of  pro- 
prieties as  to  himself.  She  stepped  down  from 
her  height  without  a  word.  Then  came  a  rev- 
elation. The  captain  was  a  selfish  man,  of 
warm  passions.     She  was  beautiful,  and  her 


olets,  and  a  year  from  to-day  look  at  them, 
thinking  of  me.     Will  you  ?^' 

It  was  the  paltry  detail  of  a  flirtation,  per- 
haps, or  it  might  have  some  deeper,  sweeter 
significance. 

"Where  will  you  be?"  the  young  face  grow- 
ing pensive. 

He  had  imprisoned  her  two  hands  before  she 
knew  it,  and  was  wooing  her  impetuously.  "I 
shall  be  where  you  place  me." 

Every  moment  of  iiappiness  may  inflict  some 
corresponding  period  of  pain  elsewhere.  At 
home  the  mother  was  saying,  with  a  flush  on  her 
cheek, 

"Your  uncle  wishes  Ethel  to  visit  him,  and 
improve  her  voice."  She  did  not  add  that  she 
had  petitioned  Richard  Hearn  to  do  this  thing 
for  her  child.  He  responded  graciously  that 
Ethel  might  come  for  three  months.  Since  she 
had  sung  atSt.Chrysostom's,Mrs.  Hearn  hadde- 
tcrmined  to  do  something  for  her  advancement. 
The  mother  had  a  double  anxiety  for  getting 
her  youngest  daughter  away  now.  The  whole 
household  had  merged  from  pleasure  to  dread 
concerning  Miss  Haines's  whimsical  fancy  for 
Ethel.  She  was  a  rich,  elderly  lady,  to  whom 
the  girl  possessed  the  novelty  of  a  fresh  toy; 
but  while  she  found  amusement  in  petting 
Ethel,  might  not  the  latter  become  imbued 
with  false  ideas  regarding  her  own  home  ? 
The  question  was  asked  in  the  darkened  sick- 
chamber,  by  the  mother ;  in  the  china  closet 
by  the  little  sister,  sorting  dishes ;  and  in  the 
kitchen  by  Peggy,  as  she  brought  her  flat-iron 
to  bear  with  unusual  energy.  Another  reason 
was  still  more  urgent.  The  captain  was  al- 
ways strolling  about  the  place,  haunting  Ethel's 
path,  where  Miss  Raines's  sliarp  glance  could 
not  detect  him. 

"I  can't  see  any  thing  uncommon  in  that 
ere  capting,"  blurted  Peggy.  "  Why  does  he 
come  snoupin'  around  at  dark  ?"  Takes  mighty 
good  care  that  nobody  sees  him.  S'pose  he'd 
feel  ashamed,  likely,  to  have  his  folks  know!" 

Ethel  would  smile  in  a  superior  way.  Young 
or  old,  it  is  hard  to  make  a  woman  believe  that 
she  is  not  an  excejjtion  to  all  known  rules. 

"Lord,  child,  he'd  no  sooner  marry  you  than 
me.  I've  seen  that  sort  afore  in  my  time ; 
wants  a  gal  with  lots  of  money  to  buy  'em. 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


73 


No !  They  don't  many  poor  gals  such  as  you 
be,  but  they  stand  in  the  way  of  honest  men 
marrying  'em,  if  they  can." 

How  Ethel's  eyes  flashed.  The  captain 
should  see  if  she  was  good  enough  to  marry 
him  or  not.  Of  course,  slic  had  tliought  of  it. 
Few  girls  ever  sec  an  eligible  man  without  a 
rapid  inventory  of  his  qualifications,  wondering 
dreamily  what  mail  be. 

"Peggy,  you  are  a  fool,"  cried  Ethel,  thus 
hard  pressed. 

"Mebbe.  I've  got  plenty  of  company  if  I 
am,"  returned  the  old  woman,  scntcntiously. 

But  Peggy's  arrow  rankled.  Ethel  was 
liaughty  and  indifferent  for  a  while,  and  the 
cliange  only  piqued  the  captain. 

Olive  and  Peggy  received  the  tidings  of 
Richard  Hearn's  offer  with  positive  relief.  The 
sisters  had  never  been  separated,  and  Ethel's 
departure  would  be  like  depriving  her  of  a 
limb,  Olive  felt,  yet  she  rejoiced.  She  had 
early  learned  to  set  aside  herself  wholly  for 
others.  In  an  unobtrusive  way  Olive  Hearn 
gave  the  best  portion  of  every  thing  to  her 
mother,  sister,  even  to  Nicholas,  and  accepted 
the  crumbs  so  quietly  that  it  required  more 
than  a  glance  to  discover  that  she  was  not 
equally  well  supplied. 

"  Where  is  Ethel  ?"  inquired  the  mother, 
with  the  shade  of  reproach  in  her  voice  which 
invalids  acqxxire  when  they  feci  themselves  neg- 
lected. 

"She  has  not  returned  yet." 

Peggy  stole  out,  with  her  apron  over  her 
head,  and  peered  keenly  in  all  directions.  Ol- 
ive followed.  Two  figures  were  on  the  beach, 
moving  slowly  in  the  opposite  direction.  Peggy 
gazed  after  them,  with  the  helpless  anger  of 
the  sheep-dog  at  beholding  one  of  the  lambkins 
strolling  in  a  friendly  manner  with  tlie  wolf. 

"  I'll  go  and  fetch  her.  What  business  has 
she  stragglin'  round  this  time  o'  night  when  her 
mother  wants  her  ?" 

"Do  not  go,  Peggy,"  urged  the  little  sister, 
earnestly.  "  She  might  be  vexed  if  she  thought 
we  were  watching  her,  and  did  not  trust  her. 
She  is  so  young  and  pretty,  and  slie  has  had 
very  little  fun  in  her  life." 

Then  Olive  laid  her  head  down  on  Peggy's 
arm,  and  began  to  cry  softly.  It  was  all  so 
strange.  Ethel  has  stepped  out  into  a  world, 
whither  she  might  not  follow.  Oh,  patient  lit- 
•  tle  sister,  were  you  thinking  of  a  night  in  "  the 
season  "  of  whose  gay  existence  you  knew  noth- 
ing, when  the  music  came  from  a  neighboring 
ball-room  to  the  silent  chamber  where  you  lis- 
tened?    Thrust  outside  the  gate  of  unknown 


pleasure,  how  the  music  pulsed  and  throbbed 
through  young  frames,  with  tlie  irresistible  im- 
pulse to  fly  and  circle  over  the  polished  floor 
among  the  gay  multitude,  bringing  to  your 
heart  a  certain  wistfulncss  while  Ethel  burst 
into  passionate  tears !  "  Wliy  arc  we  not  like 
other  girls,  with  fathers  and  friends?" 

Peggy  gathered  up  the  little  form,  and  car- 
ried her  into  the  house,  bidding  her  keep  the 
mother  from  worrying.  For  another  hour  Peg- 
gy stood,  a  grim  sentinel,  behind  the  syringa- 
bush,  sweeping  the  beach  with  her  glance. 
She  longed  to  run  after  the  fugitive,  but  Olive's 
warning  restrained  her.  She  magnified  the 
artful  wiles  of  the  adversary ;  slie  underrated 
the  sagacity  of  her  dove.  At  last  her  weary 
eyes  discerned  two  specks,  which  grew  into  the 
familiar  shapes  of  Ethel  and  Captain  Lacer. 
The  old  nurse  was  further  made  aware  of  the 
pleasing  fiict  that  the  gallant  officer  had  offer- 
ed his  arm  to  the  lady,  and  she  had  accepted 
it.  Peggy  involuntarily  stooped,  and  a  wrin- 
kle deepened  in  her  forehead.  Ignorant  of 
the  stern  face  behind  the  syringa-bush,  there 
was  a  lingering  leave-taking  at  the  gate. 

"  Good-night.  You  will  meet  me  there  to- 
morrow," said  the  captain,  softly,  and  departed. 

Peggy  made  the  guilty  one  aware  of  her 
proximity. 

"You  there?"  inquired  Ethel,  witli  a  nerv- 
ous laugh.  Her  cheeks  glowed  like  damask 
roses,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  like  twin  stars. 
The  stimulus  of  excitement  is  the  very  wine 
of  life  to  American  women.  • 

"I'm  ashamed  of  ye,  Ethel  Hearn." 

Now  Ethel  was  a  trifle  ashamed  of  herself, 
but  she  resented  reproach.  She  could  never 
endure  fault-finding.  Smooth  her  silken  plum- 
age, and  she  was  winning,  lovable  ;  ruffle  it  by 
disapproval,  and  she  grew  angry. 

"Indeed!  I  hope  you  may  never  be  more 
seriously  disgraced.  Had  I  known  that  I  gave 
you  the  trouble  of  playing  spy,  I  would  certain- 
ly have  come  before."  She  swept  to  the  door 
with  lofty  dignity,  only  to  encounter  the  little 
sister's  troubled  face. 

"You  will  be  sorry  for  speaking  like  that. 
Ask  pardon." 

But  Ethel  twisted  away  her  shoulder  from 
the  warning  toucli,  and  remained  obstinately 
silent.  Peggy  strode  into  the  kitchen,  took  a 
pinch  of  snuff,  and  shuffled  her  cards  reflect- 
ively, "the  mother  was  in  a  state  of  feverish 
anxiety  to  get  Ethel  away  at  once. 

"I  can  go  to-morrow.  I  have  only  to  bid 
Miss  Raines  good-bye,"  said  the  girl,  airily,  al- 
ready pleased  with  a  prospect  of  change. 


74 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


"  Wc  can  do  tliiit  for  ypu," 

"Wliat !"  exclaimed  Eihel,  amazed. 

She  lias  been  very  kind  to  you,  yet  there 
can  be  no  fiiendship  where  people  are  not  of 
equal  social  position.  Siic  will  have  ample  o])- 
portunity  of  being  kind  again  if  she  chooses. 
Leave  the  matter  to  us." 

Ethel  Hearn  went  away.  Miss  Raines  was 
offended.  She  had  plans  of  her  own  for  the 
girl.  She  made  no  inquiry  ;  as  she  readily 
divined,  she  was  not  to  know.  The  cajjtain 
smoked,   strolled,   and    waited   in    vain.      His 


mother  gave  him  much  good  advice  about  set- 
tling in  life.  Peggy  could  not  resist  saying  to 
Miss  Haines, 

"  Would  you  kindly  tell  that  capting,  ma'am, 
tliat  Miss  Ethel's  gone  away  for  good  ?"  Which 
caused  the  lady  to  open  her  eyes  precisely  as 
I'eggy  intended. 

"  Perhaps  I  am  indebted  to  you  for  the 
flight  of  my  protege'e,"  she  said  at  dinner. 

Captain  Lacer  laughed  consciously,  and  pull- 
ed his  mustache.  Mr.  liaines  looked  at  them 
in  silence. 


CHAPTER  XXL 


A  STRANGER  WITHIN  TIIY  GATES, 


NICHOLAS  HEARN  returned  from  col- 
lege one  dark  night  unexpectedly.  When 
the  little  sister  ran  out  to  greet  him,  she  dis- 
covered a  second  taller  figure  in  the  back- 
ground. 

"My  friend,  Nelson  Tliornc,  has  come  to 
make  us  a  visit,  and  try  my  new  steam-power," 
said  Nicholas,  with  charming  hospitality. 

This  announcement  threw  the  small  house- 
hold literally  on  its  beam-ends.  A  guest  was 
an  obstacle  before  which  even  Olive's  clear  sa- 
gacity wavered.  While  she  Avas  being  intro- 
duced, and  welcortiing  her  brother's  friend,  she 
was  rapidly  asking  herself  such  mental  ques- 
tions as  these :  Where  was  she  to  put  him  ? 
What  would  the  larder  furnish  for  the  supper  of 
two  hungry  men?  The  little  sister  groaned  in 
spirit  as  she  led  the  way  into  the  house  with 
some  cheerful  inquiry  concerning  their  jour- 
ney. How  could  Nicholas  be  so  careless! 
When  Nelson  Thorne  beheld  the  tiny  propor- 
tions of  the  establishment,  he  realized  that  he 
had  made  a  mistake.  He  had  no  more  idea 
of  the  circumstances  of  his  college-mate  than 
the  man  in  the  moon.  Nicholas  had  impor- 
tuned him  to  come,  and,  with  his  customary 
good-nature,  he  had  yielded. 

The  young  hostess  rajiidly  whisked  all  traces 
of  feminine  presence  from  her  own  chamber, 
flashed  in  to  tell  tlie  mother  of  this  unexpect- 
ed calamity,  and  informed  the  gentlemen  that 
their  meal  was  served  in  a  surprisingly  short 
space  of  time. 

You  can  not  summon  a  banquet  fit  for  the 
gods  with  one  wave  of  a  wand,  in  an  American 
countrv  .  town.     The   butcher   and  baker  are 


locked,  up,  probably ;  the  kitchcn-firc  is  low. 
If  you  give  the  guest  that  portion  which  was 
to  have  served  for  breakfast,  wherewithal  shall 
that  meal  be  furnished  ?  Olive  and  Peggy, 
caught  on  the  horns  of  this  dilemma,  gazed  at 
each  other  in  silence,  until  a  happy  inspiration 
came  to  the  latter  in  the  one  word  '"Ciiickens." 
The  little  sister  brightened,  then  gloomed. 

"I  hate  to  kill  my  pets.  Pray  spare  the 
top-knot." 

How  those  collegians  ate  I  Famished  wolves 
are  no  comparison.  Peggy  hovered  over  the 
ruins  of  the  feast  in  dismay. 

Said  Miss  Hearn  to  Mr.  Hearn,  with  par- 
donable acerbity,  behind  a  closet  door  at  a 
safe  distance  from  the  visitor's  ear, 

"  May  I  ask  where  he  is  to  sleep  ?" 

"  Oh,  we  can  give  him  a  shakedown  some- 
where." 

"  He  is  not  a  horse,  but  I  hope  we  know  how 
to  treat  him." 

The  three  young  things  passed  a  merry  even- 
ing after  all.  The  little  sister  seldom  harbor- 
ed malice  long.  She  enjoyed  the  exciting  de- 
scriptions of  college  life,  the  matched  games  of 
ball,  the  battles  and  controversies,  the  injustice 
of  certain  professors,  and  the  meanness  of  cer- 
tain tutors ;  the  clever  tricks ;  the  details  of 
how  the  president  was  "done."  Olive  forgot 
the  cares  of  breakfast,  the  possible  sacrifice  of 
the  top-knot,  in  this  stir  of  healthy  animation 
which  had  come  to  her  sober  life. 

Peggy  in  the  kitchen,  rendered  gloomy  by 
the  discovery  that  not  a  crumb  of  bread  re- 
mained to  the  whole  loaf,  sat,  finger  on  lip, 
studying  the  cards. 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


75 


"He's  the  knave  of  hearts,  and  he  brings 
trouble." 

"A  very  nice  girl.  A  fellow  might  fall  in 
love  with  her  if  he  had  time,"  reflected  Nelson 
Thorne,  betaking  himself  to  Olive's  clean  little 
cliamber,  unconscious  that  the  young  lady  in 
question  was  sleeping  on  an  improvised  couch 


on  the  parlor  floor,  with  her  head  under  the  ta- 
ble. He  had  seen  enough  to  resolve  on  leav- 
ing next  day  after  the  experiment.  At  noon 
of  the  next  day  Nelson  Thorne  lay  senseless  in 
a  turnip-field,  having  been  hurled  to  a  distance 
by  a  force  of  nature  which  Nicholas  Hearn  had 
not  learned  to  manage. 


CEAPTER  XXII. 


LOVERS. 


■VriCHOLAS  HEARN,  in  his  college  prog 
-L^  ress,  was  diffusive.  He  cither  lacked  con- 
centration of  purpose,  or  attempted  to  grasp 
too  much  at  one  time.  His  future  life  alone 
could  determine  by  development  whether  his 
industry  equaled  his  enthusiasm.  He  was  not 
as  brilliant  as  original  in  the  researches  of 
study ;  he  was  always  unearthing  questions  of 
which  his  mates  seldom  thought,  and  his  in- 
structors delighted  in  him.  If  in  geology  he 
was  hammer  and  anvil,  in  the  laboratory  he  was 
a  fire-brand.  Daring  were  the  intimacies  in- 
duced between  inflammable  gases  at  the  hands 
of  Nicholas  Hearn.  The  forces  of  galvanism 
and  magnetism  fascinated  him  ;  chemical  affin- 
ity and  mechanical  motion  filled  all  his  waking 
thoughts.  Platinum  and  steel,  iodine  and  naph- 
thaline, yielded  their  secrets  to  young  Nicholas, 
as  they  had  done  to  greater  men  ;  sand  whirl- 
ed and  danced  on  plates  of  glass ;  even  gold 
was  refined  to  a  purple  residuum. 

The  professor  said  that  he-would  be  a  famous 
student  if —  The  "if"  was  Nelson  Thorne 
knocked  senseless  in  a  turnip-field.  Niciiolas 
desired  to  become  an  inventive  force,  and  tried 
his  little  golden  key  in  all  the  ponderous  locks 
of  nature,  hoping  to  throw  wide  the  portals  to 
some  fresh  realm  of  wonder.  Might  he  not 
discover,  at  least,  some  lost  art  of  the  ancients, 
and  restore  it  to  his  century  ?  Life  was  too 
serious  for  Nicholas  Hearn  to  rest  content  with 
the  fame  acquired  by  coining  a  word,  like  the 
witty  Frenchman,  Victor  Koqueplan's  invention 
of  "chic." 

A  continent  to  cultivate  meant  more  to  him 
than  a  bonmot,  although  the  polish  of  civiliza- 
tion and  the  bonmot  would  come  well  after- 
ward. The  bent  of  his  nature  was  to  do  bat- 
tle, not  idly  dreaming,  somewhere  where  there 
was  a  work  imperatively  set  him  to  do. 

At  the  time  Nelson  Thorne  came  home  with 


Nicholas,  steam  had  acquired  to  the  latter  the 
attraction  of  a  mighty  monster,  to  be  approach- 
ed gingerly,  but,  if  once  tamed,  converted  into 
an  obedient  slave.  He  proposed  to  saddle  and 
bridle  this  steed,  as  it  had  never  been  curbed 
before.  A  miniature  engine  was  constructed 
in  leisure  moments,  to  demonstrate  the  theory 
that  greater  pressure  could  be  used  than  had 
ever  been  considered  practicable,  by  the  em- 
ployment of  proper  valves.  Nicholas  infused 
all  the  ardor  of  his  heart  into  the  valve.  He 
built  a  cloud-castle  occupied  by  the  mother, 
where  he  should  dwell,  with  the  debt  of  his  ed- 
ucation paid,  and  have  a  laboratory  of  fabulous 
resources,  while  working  over  scraps  of  iron 
and  tin. 

At  last  he  rushed  out,  glowing  with  excite- 
ment, and  encountered  Nelson  Thorne.  One 
young  man,  without  thought  of  the  clear  puri- 
ty of  the  day,  had  bent  to  the  task  he  was  for 
the  time  absorbed  in ;  the  other  came  swing- 
ing along  from  the  river,  with  a  grand  play  of 
lung  and  muscle,  his  whole  frame  expanded  by 
healthy  exercise. 

"  I've  got  it  at  last !"  cried  Nicholas. 

"  Hurra !  old  fellow,"  responded  Nelson, 
heartily. 

He  believed  in  Nicholas,  altliough  he  pre- 
ferred out-of-door' sports  to  the  other's  chosen 
studies  ;  while  Nicholas,  in  return,  gloried  in 
Nelson's  strength  and  beauty.  Then  they  came 
to  Shellport.  The  engine  was  set  up  a  short 
distance  from  the  house,  and  looked  so  very 
insignificant  that  Nelson  was  careless  of  his 
proximity. 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  stand  back,"  sug- 
gested the  inventor,  on  his  knees  over  tlie  fire. 

Nelson  had  no  time  to  respond.  Lo  !  The 
steam  monster  rose  in  wrath,  wrenched  oflT  the 
valve,  which  struck  Nelson  violently  on  the 
head,  and  spurned  the  shackles  of  the  puny 


JOSEPH  THE  ji:\v, 


engine  with  Ji  resounding  explosion.  The  re- 
ceptacle was  small,  but  the  jiowcr  within  was 
mighty. 

Olive  and  I'cggy  rushed  out  of  the  house  in 
alarm.  There  sat  Nicholas  on  the  ground, 
gazing  around  at  the  ruins  in  bewilderment. 
Nelson  lay  very  still.  I'cggy  gave  her  boy  a 
little  shake. 

"Are  ye  hurt?  15cdlam's  let  loose,  I  be- 
lieve." 

" I  think  wrought  steel  might  stand  the  jncss- 
urc,"  quoth  Nicholas. 

Olive  raised  Nelson's  head  on  her  lap,  in 
sickening  fear.  Blood  trickled  down  his  fore- 
heftd,  and  he  had  fallen  heavily  in  a  rough 
place  among  stones.  Tiie  nurse  came  out  in 
full  force  in  Olive.  She  was  tender,  but  calm, 
although  she  could  have  cried  with  pity  over 
the  manly  strength  laid  low.  Perhaps  his 
brain  was  injured  !  Perhaps  he  was  hopeless- 
ly crippled ! 

"  Shall  we  keep  him  here  until  a  doctor 
comes?  or  shall  we  move  him  to  the  house?" 
she  questioned,  looking  up  at  Peggy  and  Nicli- 
olas. 

"I  can  lift  him  a'most,"  said  Peggy. 

"  Oh,  Nicholas  I  "cried  the  little  sister,  in  one 
uncontrollable  outburst  of  regret.  "  Why  can't 
you  rest  contented  to  be  like  other  people, 
instead  of  doing  these  dreadful  things?  You 
may  have  killed  him  !" 

"I  ?"  said  Nicholas,  aghast. 

"Just  keep  quiet,  child.  Talking  don't 
mend  matters,"  interposed  Peggy,  who  always 
espoused  the  cause  of  the  oppressed  one  in  her 
little  ftock.  So,  with  the  aid  of  a  passing 
laborer,  Nelson  was  borne  back  to  the  house, 
and,  ■when  the  physician  came,  his  injuries  were 
found  to  consist  of  a  broken  limb  and  a  wound- 
ed head.  Events  followed  in  quick  succession. 
The  little  house  beyond  the  beach  missed  Eth- 
el ;  but  Nelson  Thorne  had  almost  taken  her 
place,  and  was  rapidly  becoming  one  of  them, 

Peggy,  stalking  solemnly  about  her  own  du- 
ties, was  more  of  a  tactician  than  the  house- 
hold dreamed  of.  She  assumed  chief  charge 
of  Mrs.  Hearn  ;  she  directed  Nicholas  into  the 
groove  of  caring  for  his  mother ;  yet  if  a  wise 


measure  occurred  to  her  respecting  the  comfort 
of  their  guest,  she  made  Olive  her  deputy,  as 
if  the  idea  originated  with  the  girl.  Ah,  wise 
old  Peggy !  Were  the  subtle  agencies  at  work 
in  two  young  hearts  thus  brought  into  close 
contact,  the  one  helper,  and  the  other  helpless, 
known  to  you?  Cool  hands  smoothed  the  pil- 
low beneath  Nelson's  restless  head ;  a  sweet 
voice  soothed  him  to  sleep ;  in  his  pain  and 
weakness,  he  found  an  unfailing  sympathy,  al- 
tiiough  he  was  ignorant  at  the  moment  of  its 
source.  To  the  little  sister,  used  as  she  was  to 
illness,  his  dejienJcnce  on  herself  was  touch- 
ing. Often  she  reflected  with  satisfaction  that 
he  needed  her,  would  suffer  by  her  neglect  or 
absence,  as  she  looked  at  the  handsome  face 
no  longer  blooming  with  health.  This  supera- 
bundant life,  that  would  never  otherwise  have 
known  her  influence,  hung  on  her  vigilant  care 
through  all  the  stages  of  dangerous  fever  de- 
lirium. Thus  to  the  Hearn  home,  small  and 
humble  as  it  was,  came  the  dawn  of  a  joy  such 
as  tlie  Kaines  mansion  had  not  known  for  many 
years,  finding  root,  as  it  did,  in  the  noblest 
sources  of  the  heart. 

Nelson  Thorne  returned  to  life,  and  found  the 
little  sister  ministering  to  him.  The  strange- 
ness of  his  surroundings ;  the  unaccountable 
languor  of  illness  ;  above  all,  the  delicious  nov- 
elty of  a  feminine  influence  such  as  he  had 
never  known,  seemed  only  a  dream.  As  his 
strength  came  back,  the  natural  tone  of  health 
gradually  re-asserted  sway,  and  the  dull  oppres- 
sion was  lifted  from  his  injured  head  ;  yet  this 
new  element  in  his  existence  did  not  fade  away, 
but  became  a  steadfast  fact,  over  which  he  pon- 
dered with  closed  eyes.  Then  dawned  a  day 
when  he  stretched  out  his  hand  to  Olive,  an 
unwonted  glow  on  his  pallid  che-ck,  a  soft,  be- 
seeching entreaty  in  his  beautiful  eyes,  and  he 
said,  quite  simply, 

"  How  much  you  have  done  for  me !  I  sup- 
pose I  should  be  dead  but  for  your  kindness. 
Kiss  me,  dear." 

And  Olive,  bending  low,  kissed  him  as- she 
never  would  kiss  but  one  man  in  her  life. 

"Thou,  and  no  other," 
was  her  creed. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


AX   INTEKRUPTIOX. 


THE  treasures  of  a  lifetime  may  be  found  in 
one  golden  grain  of  the  life-sands.  Tlie 
monotony  of  months  and  seasons,  following  in 
smooth  routine,  may  be  broken  by  a  marvelous 
change  which  will  ever  after  prevent  the  years 
from  settling  back  again  to  the  old  groove. 
Olive  Ilearn  was  transfigured,  and  on  Nelson 
Thorne  fell  the  reflection  of  her  radiance.  It 
w"as  all  so  wonderful !  The  circumstances  of 
their  meeting  and  loving  were  so  extraordinary 
and  unprecedented  that  tliey  were  never  weary 
of  dwelling  on  the  theme. 

Down  through  the  starry  silence  of  night 
had  slanted  a  falling  light,  vivid  as  the  fire  of 
comet  or  meteor,  assuming,  as  it  approached, 
the  pure  lineaments  of  an  angel  form.  It  was 
not  Iris  crossing  the  i^iinbow- bridge,  Venus 
undulating  through  space  in  her  chariot,  buoy- 
ant as  the  sea-foam  from  which  she  sprang, 
nor  stately  Juno,  with  her  jeweled  train,  but  a 
little  child-soul,  ignorant  of  sorrow,  fed  on  no 
earthly  perfumes,  and  reared  on  the  celestial 
heights  of  paradise.  In  obedience  to  an  im- 
pulse, mysterious  and  inscrutable,  which  yet 
thrilled  the  universe,  the  child-soul  came  to 
forge  two  destinies  into  one.  On  the  thresh- 
old tiie  presence  paused  ;  snowy  pinions  flm- 
ned  the  slumberers ;  two  hearts  were  poised  in 
the  balance — one  pure  gold  without  alloy,  the 
other,  alas,  only  veined.  Then  the  rapid  quiv- 
er of  wings  clave  the  air,  and  earth  was  left  to 
its  clay  again. 

Time,  as  counted  by  Peggy's  kitchen  clock, 
no  longer  had  any  control  over  the  small  house- 
hold. There  was  a  perpetual  confusion  and 
upsetting  of  all  routine,  which  the  little  sister 
strove,  sliame-facedly,  to  remedy  entirely  with- 
out success.  She  was  the  cause.  When  tlie 
young  housekeeper  put  coffee  into  the  tea-cad- 
dy, and  absently  administered  Nelson's  hourly 


medicine  to  her  brother  -while  she  conversed 
with  the  real  invalid,  Peggy  gave  it  up  and  re- 
treated to  her  own  dominion.  Yes,  it  had  all 
happened ;  yet  repeated  assurances  of  the  fact 
would  not  render  it  one  whit  more  tangibly 
real.  A  ring  sparkled  on  Olive's  finger,  pledg- 
ing her  to  Nelson,  sent  by  Experience  Thorne. 
Mrs.  Hearn  strove  to  enter  into  the  happiness 
of  her  child,  and  stifle  all  appearance  of  regret 
at  losing  her.  Peggy  was  satisfied,  for  the 
handsome  lover  had  a  rare  gift  of  winning  good 
opinions. 

Nicholas  was  unfeigncdiy  amazed,  but  drop- 
ped the  matter  as  beyond  his  ken  after  several 
days  of  fixed  staring  at  the  young  couple,  de- 
voted his  thoughts  to  adding  an  iron  cap  to  the 
valve,  and  procuring  a  patent.  In  his  moth- 
er's sick-room  he  unfolded  his  plans  to  an  un- 
wearied listener.  Never,  by  word  or  thought, 
did  she  discourage  him,  and  the  son  came  away 
from  her  presence  strengthened  and  refreshed. 
Blessed  maternal  faith  and  patience !  Thus, 
when  sentiment  in  the  parlor  became  oppress- 
ive to  Nicholas,  he  ascended  to  the  mother's 
chamber  to  discuss  mechanics. 

Experience  Thorne  made  several  visits  to 
Shellport ;  first  when  he  was  summoned  to  his 
son  after  the  accident,  and  during  several 
stages  of  convalescence.  He  scanned  the  fam- 
ily carefully,  but  his  gaze  rested  longest  on 
Olive.  The  son,  from  long  habit  of  boyhood, 
rather  dreaded  the  severity  of  his  criticisms 
on  the  kind  friends  he  had  found. 

The  little  sister  had  a  skirmish  with  liim  ad 
the  outset,  and  came  off  victorious,  to  Nelson's 
secret  amusement.  She  found  Experience 
Thorne  pouring  some  favorite  medicine  into  a 
glass  of  water  preparatory  to  administering  it 
to  his  son. 

"You  must  not  give  hira  that,"  said  Olive, 


JOSEril  THE  JEW. 


arresting  liis  hand,  and  looking  unflincliingly  ' 
into  the  stern  face. 

"May  I  asii  your  reason?"  he  found  words 
to  incjuirc  uhcn  lie  had  siifliciently  recovered 
fi'oni  his  first  surprise. 

"I  have  the  doctor's  orders  to  obey.  It  is 
not  honest  to  him,  you  know,  unless  he  is  to 
give  up  the  case  altogether  ;  and  I  am  sure," 
with  a  glance  at  Nelson,  "you  will  not  insist 
on  that  at  such  a  crisis." 

Experience  Thornc  corked  his  bottle,  and 
put  it  in  his  pocket,  without  further  opjiositicjn. 
Some  murmured  remark  he  did  make  about 
the  wisdom  of  the  j)rcsent  generation,  which 
was  only  to  be  exjjected.  A  faint  smile  flitted 
over  Nelson's  face,  and  his  respect  for  the  little 
sister  increased  from  that  hour. 

"I  like  that  girl,"  was  the  father's  comment, 
made  quite  abruptly. 

This  commendation  made  the  task  of  filial  , 
reverence  easier  when  the  son  was  able  to 
write  a  few  straggling  lines  announcing  his  en- 
gagement. Perhaps  Nelson  Thorne  was  never 
more  surprised  in  the  course  of  his  life  than 
when  his  father  responded  in  person  to  this  let- 
ter. It  had  never  seemed  as  if  an  extraordi- 
nary interest  in  the  marriage  of  his  son  would 
move  him,  yet  here  he  was  discussing  aft'airs 
eagerly  with  Mrs.  Hearn,  sounding  Olive  on 
her  preferences,  and  urging  all  speed  in  the 
wedding.  The  young  peoi)le  should  live  with 
him  if  they  could  content  themselves,  and  when 
he  died  all  his  possessions  should  be  left  to  them. 
In  the  mean  while  Nelson  must  bestir  himself; 
he  had  idled  long  enough. 

"I  look  to  you  to  make  a  man  of  him.  A 
woman's  influence  is  so  great,"  he  said  to  Olive. 

Nelson  made  a  lordly  sort  of  lover.  He 
grew  hourl}-  more  fond  of  his  little  Olive,  but 
he  received  worsliip  rather  than  gave  it.  No 
wonder  she  was  fascinated.  Beauty  of  the 
manly  type,  the  bloom  of  glorious,  robust  youth, 
and,  most  captivating  consideration  of  all,  he 
preferred  her  to  all  the  world. 

Ha]>piness  of  this  kind  comes  usually  once, 
at  least,  to  every  woman's  lot,  but  it  rarely  has 
the  ingredients  the  cup  possessed  for  Olive 
Ilearn.  Siie  would  have  been  grateful  for  the 
profl'ered  love  of  any  good  man,  even  if  she 
could  not  have  accepted  it,  but  the  oft'ering  daz- 
zled her  when  it  came  from  this  young  god, 
with  a  wide  field  of  choice  open  to  him.  In 
the  stories  told  by  the  mother,  Ethel  was  al- 
ways the  fairy  princess,  and  Olive  the  hearth- 
flower.  These  roots  struck  deeper  into  the  lit- 
tle sister's  natural  humility  than  the  story-tell; 
er  realized. 


"  I  do  not  know  how  you  can  prefer  me  to 
other  girls.  If  you  had  only  seen  Ethel  first !" 
she  would  say  to  this  hero,  with  the  light  of 
l)erfect  trust  in  her  clear,  serene  eye. 

The  response  was  some  re-assuring  caress. 
At  times  this  modesty  annoyed  him  ;  at  oth- 
ers, afi'orded  gratification.  What  right  had  the 
best  girl  in  Christendom  to  lay  herself  at  his 
feet,  as  it  were?  Pleasant  the  task  of  raising 
her,  however.  As  for  this  Ethel  he  heard,  so 
much  about,  she  must  be  pretty,  certainly,  and 
all  that,  but  he  would  willingly  balance  his 
choice  against  any  power  of  attraction  she 
might  possess.  Soon  must  come  a  change 
from  the  pleasant,  idle  life  of  convalescence 
and  delightfid  petting,  to  which  tlie  soul  of  man 
is  not  insensible.  Especially  grateful  to  Nelson 
was  the  delicate,  womanly  influence,  reared  as 
he  had  been  in  that  dark  city  home.  Change 
was  coming,  although  they  rested  on  the  very 
brink  in  calm  content. 

They  were  seated  by  the  parlor  window  one 
sultry  morning,  Nelson  in  the  large  arm-chair, 
the  little  sister  reading  "  Lucille  "  aloud.  The 
young  man's  gaze  rested  placidly  on  the  dainty 
figure  beside  him,  and  he  imprisoned  her  dis- 
engaged hand  in  his  broad  palm.  There  had 
been  active  discussions  as  to  whether  Nelson 
resembled  Alfred  Fargrave  or  Luvois.  Olive 
insisted  playfully  that  he  was  like  the  former. 
Her  voice  trembled  as  she  read, 

"I  follow  the  way 
Ilcaven  loads  me ;  I  can  not  foresee  to  what  end. 
I  kuow  only  that  far,  far  away,  it  must  teud 
From  all  places  in  which  we  have  met, 
Far  away  I— onward— upward !" 

"Ah,  how  common  and  mean  we  seem  after 
that!" 

"Nonsense,"  returned  Nelson.  "Lucille  is 
an  ideal  woman." 

"  I  know,"  assented  Olive.  "All  the  greater 
pity." 

"The  reality  is  so  much  better,  my  dear  lit- 
tle girl."  A  warmth  of  affection  underlying  the 
insignificant  words  brought  a  becoming  blush 
to  Olive's  cheek. 

"  IIow  is  mamma,  children?"  inquired  a 
sweet,  demure  voice. 

There  stood  a  girl  in  the  door-way,  smiles 
of  saucy  amusement  dimpling  her  face,  a  pres- 
ence of  exuberant  life  and  loveliness.  Nelson 
sprang  to  his  feet.  Surely  he  had  seen  her 
before.  Where?  In  church,  wlien  he  was  a 
lad.     But  she  was  young. 

"Do  not  rise,  I  beg,  I  know  all  about 
it,"  pursued  the  stranger,  with  that  indefinable 
mockery  in  her  tone,  while  her  glance  broke  in 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


79 


a  thousand  sparkles  over  the  young  man.     He  [  d.ny.     She  must  stay  with  her  mother,  slic  said. 

Nor  was  she  more  coinpanionahle  the  next 
day.  After  breakfast  she  ajipcared,  equipped 
for  a  walk. 

"You  do  not  know  Nelson  a  bit,"  demurred 
Olive. 

"I  shall  have  plenty  of  time  for  that  agree- 
al)lc  employment.  Wlicn  you  arc  married,  I 
will  spend  half  of  my  time  at  your  house,"  said 
Ethel,  drawing  on  her  gloves.  "After  broth- 
er-in-law recovers  the  use  of  his  limb,  he  may 
escort  me  out,"  she  added,  inclining  her  head 
gracefully,  and  glancing  roguislily  at  him  from 
beneath  her  silky  lashes. 

Every  thing  was  just  the  same  as  before,  Nel- 
son kept  assuring  himself.     Olive  read,  Nich- 


reddened  uncomfortably ;  evidently  she  was 
making  fun  of  him. 

'"Oh,  Eiiiel  dear,  we  did  not  cxjiect  you  so 
soon,"  said  Olive,  embracing  her  joyfully. 

"Very  likely,"  replied  Ethel,  making  a  little 
ntoiie,  which  a  handsome  girl  can  only  do  suc- 
cessfully. "  Well,  brother-in-law,  do  you  tliink 
you  would  recognize  me  again  if  we  happened 
to  meet?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  began  Nelson,  con- 
fusedly. 

"Granted,"  said  Ethel,  with  airy  imperti- 
nence. "Where  is  that  explosive  brother  of 
mine  ?  Cupid  loaded  the  boiler,  I  suppose. 
Such  a  fortunate  accident  I      Wliv  am  I  home 


so  soon  ?    You  wish  to  know,  little  sister.    Well,    olas  came  and  went ;  yet  he  vaguely  regretted 

as  a  poor  relation  I  was  not  a  success,  my  love."  i  tlie  absence  of  this  girl,  who  was  so  "  awfully 

Ethel  was  gone,  and  appeared  no  more  that  '  pretty,"  and  "set  a  fellow  down  confoundedly." 


CEAPTER  XXIV. 


A    POOR    RELATION, 


IT  w.is  impossiljle  to  conceal  tlie  reason  for 
Etliel's  return  from  lier  mother.  Up  stairs 
the  whole  history  was  revealed,  which  the  girl's 
pride  forced  her  to  conceal  beneath  light  words 
in  the  presence  of  Nelson  Thorne.  Ethel  had 
received  her  first  sliarp  lesson,  and  was  still 
wounded. 

Kichard  Ilearn  had  invited  her  to  his  citj' 
home  in  the  summer  season,  when  his  world 
was  out  of  town  ;  not  with  premeditation,  but 
because  his  wife  advised  it.  Etiiel  found  the 
family  to  consist  of  her  uncle,  tolerant  of  her 
presence,  surprised  by  her  beauty,  and  disposed 
to  patronize  her;  for  it  deliglited  the  heart  of 
Richard  Ilcarn  to  consider  liimself  rather  an 
easily-imposed-upon,  generous  man  :  her  aunt, 
handsome  and  cold,  apt  to  mourn  over  the  fol- 
lies of  society,  and  the  price  of  her  rich  toilets 
as  diverted  from  missionary  channels,  yet  wear- 
ing them  all  the  same  ;  and  the  daughter,  Clara 
Ilearn,  a  high -shouldered,  plain  girl,  fond  of 
horses  and  talking  English  slang.  No  amount 
of  costly  apparel  could  ever  make  Clara  Ilearn 
elegant ;  she  was  one  of  those  daughters  who 
sutler  from  comparison  with  their  own  mothers. 
Behind  her  back  Mrs.  Ilearn's  dearest  friends 
remarked,  "  What  a  pity  it  is  that  poor,  dear 
Clara  is  so  shockingly  plain.  Her  mother  was 
quite  a  beauty  once." 

Ethel,  sensitive  and  proud,  was  received  ami- 
ably by  her  uncle,  with  scrutinizing  disfavor  by 
her  aunt,  and  pleasantly  by  Clara,  as  a  compan- 
ion of  her  own  age.  The  first  walk  taken  by 
the  cousins  was  marked  by  an  event  to  both. 
Captain  Lacer,  in  search  of  fugitive  Ethel,  and 
surmising  that  she  was  in  the  city,  met  them. 
What  more  natural  than  that  he  should  join 
the  young  ladies  ?  What  more  natural  than 
that  he  should  be  impressed  with  tlie  stately 
exterior  of  Ricliard  Ilearn's  residence,  and  pro- 
ceed forthwith  to  inquire  what  that  gentleman's 


j  standing  actually  was.  The  girls  went  home 
brimful  of  the  adventure.  Jlrs.  Ilearn,  in  In- 
j  dia  muslin  and  mauve  silk,  stood  at  tlic  win- 
dow using  her  eyeglass. 

"Who  was  that  gentleman?" 

"A  friend  of  Ethel's.  No  end  of  a  swell, 
mamma." 

"My  dear  child,  is  this  best?  You  came 
here  to  study." 

"  Best,"  echoed  Ethel,  coloring  brilliantly. 

"One  does  not  have  the  latitude  of  the 
country  allowed  in  town,  you  know.  Are  you 
engaged  ?" 

"Oh  no,"  asserted  Ethel,  hastily,  yet  with  a 
little  complacency.  She  could  marry  Captain 
Lacer;  even  her  aunt  perceived  that  already. 

Sirs.  Ilearn  tapped  on  the  glass  softly,  and 
made  no  further  comment. 

The  captain  called,  sanctioned  by  an  intro- 
duction to  Richard  Hearn  at  the  club.  He 
greeted  Ethel  w-ith  a  tender  familiarity  when 
they  were  alone,  but  he  rode  out  with  Clara 
Ilearn,  because  Ethel  had  neither  horse  nor 
riding-habit.  Ethel  attributed  the  captain's 
search  for  her  to  his  acknowledged  devotion, 
and  accei)ted  the  triumph.  She  believed  that 
she  liked  him  very  much.  She  was  prepared 
to  consider  herself  absolutely  hajijiy  in  marr}-- 
ing  him.  Fancy  had  less  to  do  with  this  res- 
olution than  circumstances,  but  she  was  not 
aware  of  it.  The  captain  had  sought  her; 
longed  to  see  her;  determined  to  win  her  at 
all  costs  before  leaving  Shellport ;  afterward  ho 
had  wavered  in  his  resolution.  He  was  madly 
in  love  with  Ethel  when  he  came,  he  assured 
himself;  but  beyond  was  Clara  Ilearn,  flattered 
by  his  attentions,  an  only  daughter,  and  the  in- 
heritor of  Richard  Ilearn's  wealth.  It  is  not  an 
elevated  type  of  humanity  to  contemplate,  but 
one  found  every  day.  He  preferred  Ethel — 
slie  was  his  fancy,  his  day-dream;  but  his  moth- 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


81 


er's  lesson  was  bearing  fruit,  v.-hile  the  pressure 
of  debt  warned  him  to  stifle  sentiment.  The 
settlements  of  Mrs.  Raines's  fortune  rested  on 
the  tenure  of  her  life ;  all  other  property  be- 
longed to  John  Raines.  With  Clara  Ilearn  as 
his  wife,  Captain  Lacer  could  lead  the  life  of 
his  choice;  without,  her  he  must  be  banished  to 
some  remote  fort  or  station,  and  an  existence 
of  moping  poverty.  The  young  man  felt  him- 
self aggrieved,  miserable,  ill-used;  but  there 
seemed  to  be  no  help  for  it,  he  must  give  up 
Ethel,  and  take  her  cousin. 

"Where  did  you  meet  Captain  Lacer?"  in- 
quired Mrs.  Hearn. 

Ethel  stood  at  the  window  watching  the  de- 
parture of  Clara,  with  the  gentleman  in  ques- 
tion in  attendance,  with  a  wistful  longing  to  be 
one  of  the  party.  Ethel  was  not  as  patient  as 
the  little  sister ;  there  were  envy  and  jealousy 
in  her  heart.  She  would  look  better  in  the 
saddle  than  Clai'a,  and  the  captain's  defection 
stung  her  keenly,  although  she  did  not  fully 
understand  it  as  yet. 

"At  Shellport." 

"Do  you  visit  the  Raines  family?"  Mrs. 
Hearn  was  smiling,  and  smoothing  her  laces 
with  a  caressing  touch. 

"Yes,"  said  Ethel,  flushing  uncomfortably. 

"I  was  not  aware  of  it."  Volumes  can  be 
condensed  into  a  sentence. 

ilrs.  Hearn  had  no  desire  to  make  Ethel's 
stay  an  agreeable  one.  Ethel  was  a  dangerous 
guest,  and  the  lady  understood  to  perfection 
the  art  of  making  an  unwelcome  visitor  uncom- 
fortable, without  any  act  of  overt  rudeness. 
Moreover,  she  was  getting  the  best  of  this  af- 
fair, so  plainly  was  it  to  be  seen  that  Captain 
Lacer's  interest  had  been  wholly  transferred  to 
her  own  daughter,  much  to  the  mother's  sat- 
isfaction. Clara  would  have  money — Captain 
Lacer,  family ;  the  alliance  was  in  every  par- 
ticular desirable.  Ethel  was  walking  through 
a  path  of  thorns.  She  missed  the  sympatliy 
of  her  own  family,  she  longed  for  Miss  Rtflnes's 
kind  indulgence.  Her  musical  studies  led  her 
through  a  vale  of  discouragement.  The  Herr 
Professor  was  saturnine  in  disposition ;  he  raved 
over  false  notes  in  a  terrifying  outburst  of 
mingled  English  and  German ;  he  rapped  his 
pupil's  knuckles  smartly  at  the  repetition  of  a 
, mistake;  he  was  chary  of  praise.  How  glad- 
ly would  the  girl  have  returned  to  good  David 
Brownson,  less  learned,  perhaps,  yet  far  more 
gentle. 
^  It  was  already  late  in  the  summer,  and  the 

Heams  were  making  preparations  for  a  speedy 
departure   to    a   fashionable   watering  -  place, 
6 


when  Captain  Lacer  requested  to  see  Ethel 
one  day.  It  is  needless  to  add  that  the  rela- 
tive from  Shellport  had  no  place  in  these  plans. 
If  she  continued  her  lessons  she  was  to  remain 
in  the  deserted  city  house,  where  Richard 
Hearn  would  be  detained  much  of  the  time 
by  business.  The  aunt  had  no  intention  of 
taking  Ethel  where  she  would  cast  her  own 
daughter  in  the  shade.  Who  can  tell  what 
difi'erence  it  might  have  made  in  Ethel's  whole 
life,  had  her  aunt  set  aside  self,  and  given  her 
this  one  sip  of  innocent  pleasure  ?  Certainly 
it  would  have  softened  much  of  the  angry  bit- 
terness with  which  she  was  disposed  to  regard 
life — not  life  really,  but  her  experience  of  it. 
Ethel  entered  the  parlor,  haughty  and  indiffer- 
ent. Time  was  when  such  a  summons  would 
have  made  her  nerves  quiver  with  pleasurable 
anticipations ;  now  she  knew  that  she  had  noth- 
ing agreeable  to  expect.  She  hated  Captain 
Lacer  very  cordially.  The  emotion  he  had 
aroused  in  her  heart  was  not  suiEcienth'  pow- 
erful to  stand  the  test  of  needless  humiliation. 
His  value  was  not  enhanced  by  loss  half  as 
much  as  her  o\vn  pride  was  wounded. 

"  Do  you  want  vie?"  she  inquired,  elevating 
her  eyebrows.  Her  first  salutation  had  been 
a  trifle  sullen.  He  looked  at  her  regretfully 
a  moment  before  replying.  She  might  have 
been  his  own ;  he  knew  that  she  loved  him, 
and  he  must  give  up  all.  Men  like  Captain 
Lacer  are  turned  aside  by  straws  ;  it  does  not 
require  mountains  to  check  their  progress. 

"I  am  all  attention,  only  permit  me  to  re- 
mind you  that  I  go  to  my  professor  in  ten  min- 
utes." 

"You  are  cruel.  I  always  bored  yon, 
though." 

Ethel  remained  obstinately  silent,  looking  at 
the  carpet.  Could  she  ever  forgive  this  man 
for  the  position  he  had  placed  her  in  ?  Among 
strangers,  only  too  ready  to  find  fault,  he  had 
heaped  additional  mortification  on  her,  when 
there  was  much  to  bear  besides.  The  silence 
was  gi-owing  awkward,  the  captain  felt  ill  at 
ease,  and  Ethel  would  not  help  him.  He  had 
come  dreading  a  scene,  and  how  was  he  get- 
ting through  with  it  ? 

"  I  want  your  assistance — ah  !  that  is,  will 
you  say  a  good  word  for  me  ?  You  knew  me 
before,  and  we  have  been  such  excellent  friends, 
Ethel,"  he  said,  imploringly,  taking  her  hand. 

She  knew  what  was  coming,  but  must  needs 
aifect  ignorance.     She  withdrew  her  hand. 

"Say  a  good  word?"  she  repeated.  Was 
he  afraid  she  would  tell  of  him  ? 

"  I  am  going  to  propose  to  your  cousin ;  in 


82 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


fact,  we  understand  each  other,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, in  desperation,  flicliing  his  boot  with  his 
cane.      "  I  thought  I  would  tell  you  first." 

A  mist  swam  before  Ethel's  eyes,  her  liands 
grew  icy  cold,  yet  she  steadied  her  voice  to 
reply,  "  You  wished  to  prepare  me  fur  the 
shock,  Captain  Lacer?  That  was  very  kind. 
What  is  it  to  mo?"  She  tried  to  look  at  him 
steadily,  but  the  rebellious  tears  would  come. 
She  could  have  struck  herself  as  she  felt  them 
coursing  down  her  cheeks. 

"At  least,  we  part  friends,"  he  said,  again 
extending  liis  hand.  The  scene  was  coming; 
he  anticipated  it  with  nervous  trepidation, 
and  he  was  by  no  means  sure  of  the  result. 
He  would  have  liked  to  venture  on  a  warmer 
salutation,  only  something  in  her  face  with- 
held him.  Indeed,  he  Mas  loath  to  give  her 
up. 

"  Friends,  if  you  choose.  Now  I  may  go  to 
my  lesson." 

She  got  away  after  that.  The  face  she  turn- 
ed back  toward  the  parlor  door  on  the  stairs 
was  actually  ugly  with  vindictive  wrath.  Eth- 
el's anger  could  liave  moved  mountains  at  that 
moment  of  intense  resentment.  "  Oh,  I  am 
poor  now,  but  I  may  be  even  with  you  yet," 
she  said,  with  a  quick  sob. 

"Poor  little  girl.  How  hard  to  have  to 
give  her  up.  She  stood  it  like  a  brick,  too,  by 
Jove !"  soliloquized  Captain  Lacer,  surveying 
l;imself  discontentedly  in  the  pier-glass.     He 


went  to  his  club,  and  drank  brandy-and-soda, 
yet  he  was  dissatisfied  for  the  day,  and  many 
days  after. 

The  Hearns  went  away,  witli  Captain  Lacer 
in  attendance.  IMrs.  Ilearn,  always  wearing 
that  meaning  smile  as  of  amusement  at  some- 
body's expense,  gave  Ethel  a  cool  peck  of  a 
kiss,  and  hoped  she  would  practice  faithfully. 
Clara  was  really  affectionate,  bestowed  on  her 
cousin  a  lovely  pearl  fan  of  no  earthly  utility, 
and  j)romised  to  write  faithfully.  After  that, 
Ethel,  with  a  certain  stubbornness  of  pride,  held 
to  her  music,  and  wandered  about  the  silent 
house,  until  her  uncle  came  home  at  night. 
The  two  were  amicable.  Neither  were  demon- 
strative— one  from  a  feeling  of  superiority,  the 
other  from  restraint. 

Kichard  Hearn  knew  nothing  of  the  little 
tragedy  of  Captain  Lacer.  Clara's  success 
elated  him  ;  for  the  ])aternal  eye  had  never 
been  blinded  to  her  defects,  and  he  was  willing 
to  support  so  noble  a  son-in-law  for  the  con- 
nection. It  never  occurred  to  him  to  rank 
Ethel  as  a  rival  to  his  own  daughter,  while  his 
wife  kept  her  own  counsel  about  many  things. 
When  tidings  were  received  that  the  ladies 
would  return  for  a  week,  en  route  to  the  mount- 
ains, Ethel's  resolution  failed. 

"  1  can  not  bear  it,"  cried  the  girl,  with  an 
impatient  stamp  of  the  foot. 

She  told  her  nnclc  that  she  was  going  home, 
and  she  went. 


r 


CEAPTER  XXV. 


THISTLES. 


YOU  will  hurt  yourself." 
"I  expect  to  prick  my  fingers  many 
times  before  I  learn  wisdom.     There!     1  will 
have  it." 

A  bright  September  day,  with  the  atmos- 
phere sparkling  and  pure,  and  a  breath  of  the 
night's  frost  lingering.  Here  and  there  in  the 
hedges  a  scarlet  vine  gleamed  among  the  green 
foliage,  and  the  maples  showed  a  few  leaves  of 
l^ale  gold,  but  for  the  rest  summer  reigned. 

Two  girls  were  on  the  bank,  the  warm  shad- 
ings of  their  shawls  and  hat-feathers  giving 
coh;r  and  life  to  the  spot.  A  young  man  ac- 
companied them,  previously  listless,  now  roused 
to  animation  by  the  saucy-rdefiance  of  his  com- 
panion, who  persisted  in  gathering  her  own 
thistles. 

"Ethel  will  never  allow  me  to  help  her,"  he 
said,  reproachfull}-. 

"  I  do  not  need  you,"  replied  Ethel,  blushing 
deeply,  and  with  an  expression  of  annoyance. 

"Wait  until  an  emergency  comes,"  laughed 
Olive. 

Then  they  seated  themselves  on  the  slope  to 
patiently  convert  the  thistles  into  balls  of  snowy 
down — Ethel,  more  perverse  than  usual,  at  a 
short  distance  from  the  others.  A  chord  was 
out  of  tune;  there  was  the  jarring  strain  of  dis- 
content in  Ethel  that  morning.  Nelson's  fre- 
quent languor,  in  which  he  took  refuge  occa- 
sionally, after  his  illness,  ass-imed  also  the 
moodiness  of  abstraction.  The  little  sister 
was  cheerful,  and  gently  rallied  her  companions 
on  their  evident  depression.  "Whereupon  Ethel 
roused  herself  to  a  tone  of  badinage. 

"We  shall  see  whose  pon-pon  is  the  pretti- 
est," she  said,  gayly,  brushing  the  purple  flow- 
er-tip against  her  face,,  and  inhaling  the  faint 
sweetness. 

"What  if  mine  turns   out  best?"   retorted 


Olive;  and  indeed  soon  held  up,  gleefully,  a 
compact  little  globe  of  the  finest  spun  silk  that 
glistened  in  the  sun. 

"  Sing  to  us,  dear.  Nelson  would  like  the 
serenade  on — " 

"A  serenade  by  daylight?  No,  I  thank 
you."  Ethel  would  never  sing  to  her  sister's 
lover ;  every  entreaty  had  failed  to  make  her. 
The  temptation  was  great  now,  too  great  to  be 
resisted.  The  clear  voice  breathed  out  the 
simple  pathetic  song  of  the  Douglass,  "  tender 
and  true,"  ending  in  a  passionate  appeal : 

"Do  you  know  the  truth  up  in  heaven, 
Douglas  ?" 

Nelson  Thorne  flushed  and  paled  as  he  list- 
ened ;  his  was  a  nature  luxuriant  and  impres- 
sionable to  such  influences  as  Ethel's  smooth 
voice  produced.  His  heart  beat  in  his  throat, 
and  suffocated  him,  but  he  made  no  comment 
on  the  song.  Olive  rather  wondered  at  his  si- 
lence. Ethel  was  intent  on  her  work  again. 
The  thistle  burst  its  bonds  of  tough  scales  ;  al- 
ready its  promise  was  fair,  when  —  an  ngly 
worm  crept  out  of  the  core.  She  flung  it  away 
with  an  exclamation  of  disgust. 

"Try  another,  or  take  mine,"  suggested 
Olive. 

"No  ;  no." 

Tlie  girl  bent  Ioav  over  a  bush,  that  they 
might  not  see  her  gathering  tears.  A  fig  for 
the  thistle  !  Ethel  was  miserable,  and  resent- 
ed intrusion.  Every  thing  for  Olive,  even 
sound  flowers;  nothing  for  her  but  worm-eaten 
buds.  The  sufferings  of  youth,  so  keen,  so  in- 
surmountable, in  the  estimation  of  the  sufl'erer, 
were  usually  counteracted  by  Ethel's  buoyant 
health  and  consciousness  of  beauty.  But  to- 
day she  could  only  think  of  the  stings,  the  re- 
gret of  passing  youth,  the  wound  of  the  cap- 
tain's marriage. 


84 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


"What  good  is  it  to  be  handsome,  if  I  never 
see  any  body  in  my  prime,"  she  was  thinking, 
as  she  stared  into  the  bush,  where  a  delicate 
forest  of  leaves  and  twigs  rose  above  licr  head. 

Olive  slipped  her  arm  around  her  neck. 

"Is  any  tiling  the  matter?' 

"  Nothing.  I  am  watcliing  a  spider  crochet- 
ing with  its  legs  for  a  needle,  and  ruiming  from 
loop  to  loop.  I  wonder  if  tliis  exaniiilc  of  in- 
dustry furnished  the  model  for  the  modern  mat, 
wrought  in  baser  cotton,"  said  Etlicl,  calmly, 
and  successfully  diverted  attention  to  the  busy 
insect. 

Nelson,  watching  them,  noticed  the  gold 
cord  which  slipped  from  beneath  Ethel's  dress 
as  she  stooped. 

"Please  allow  me  to  look  at  it,"  he  said, 
wiili  sudden  animation.  But  when  he  drew 
from  his  pocket  a  second  pendant  of  dull  gold, 
framing  a  beryl  identical  with  the  first,  it  was 
the  girl's  turn  to  be  astonished. 

"Oh,  where  did  you  obtain  it?"  they  ex- 
claimed. 

"I  found  this  three  years  ago  on  the  floor 
beneath  my  father's  desk,  where  it  had  fallen 
without  his  knowledge.  He  allowed  me  to 
keep  it.  I  carry  it  for  luck,  I  fancy,  and  as  a 
curiosity,  besides." 

"What  did  he  tell  you  about  it?  Where 
did  he  get  it  ?" 

"  He  told  mc  nothing." 

Then  Olive  repeated  briefly  the  mother's 
story,  and  Nelson  listened  with  interest ;  yet 
when  she  had  finished,  he  said, 

"I  dare  say  they  make  these  things  by  the 
bushel  in  the  East,  to  sell  to  travelers  as  an- 
tique relics." 

This  was  so  tame  and  practical  a  view,  that 
the  little  sister  could  not  help  bestowing  a 
glance  of  some  contempt  on  Nelson. 

"Yours  may  be,"  she  said.  "You  shall 
have  another  thistle,  Ethel,  as  good  as  mine. 


Nelson,  give  me  the  knife.  No,  I  am  going 
myself. " 

"I  shall  not  make  another,"  called  Ethel, 
hastily. 

Nelson  took  a  few  steps  after  duty,  paused 
irresolutely,  and  came  back  to  inclination. 
Neither  sjjoke,  but  it  was  a  troubled,  eloquent 
silence.  Ethel  sat  gazing  straight  before  her 
to  the  horizon  limit,  as  if  unaware  that  his  gaze 
was  riveted  on  her. 

"  I  was  wondering  what  we  all  shall  be  by 
tlie  time  wc  reach  over  yonder,"  she  finall/said, 
in  a  low  tone,  pointing  to  the  clouds. 

"Never  mind.  Oli,  you  have  hurt  your 
hand." 

ISlic  trembled  at  his  tone,  but  she  passive- 
ly allowed  him  to  brush  the  blood-stains  from 
her  finger  with  his  handkerchief.  Ethel  never 
flirted  with  Nelson. 

"  How  have  I  vexed  yon  ?  Look  at  me 
once.     You  never  look  at  me  now." 

Ethel's  mouth  framed  the  words  that  never 
came ;  he  drew  nearer  to  catch  them,  and  the 
two  beautiful  faces  just  touched.  The  next 
moment  Nelson,  with  pallid  lips,  as  of  one  in 
deadly  pain,  was  kissing  the  stained  handker- 
chief passionately,  murmuring  hoarsely, 

"I  will  keep  this  until  I  die!" 

And  then  the  fire  leai)ed  from  Ethel's  veiled 
eyes ;  she  swept  away  the  stained  cambric,  ran 
swiftly  down  to  the  brink  of  the  little  pond  be- 
low, wrapped  a  stone  in  it,  and  tossed  it  far  out 
from  the  shore. 

"Never  do  that,"  she  said,  with  a  tremidous 
attempt  at  firmness, 

Olive  was  approaching  over  the  brow  of  the 
hill  with  her  harvest  of  thistles ;  Ethel  paused 
by  the  pond-brink,  in  advance  of  the  others, 
looking  back  with  regret,  almost  despair,  and 
between  was  the  young  man.  Above  all  brood- 
ed God's  clear  sky,  where  one  day  we  shall  see 
as  we  are  seen. 


0j&%M9^j^^<^m^ 


■<^j^\:^^ 


CHAPTEE  XXVI. 


PERIL. 


A  DREARY  day  in  ]\Iay.  St.  Clirysostom 
had  cliimed  in  the  Easter  season  without 
the  voice  of  Ethel  Hearn.  The  Raines  family 
■were  in  town,  with  the  exception  of  the  step- 
mother, who  had  gone  to  Europe  with  Captain 
and  Mrs.  Lacer. 

Tlie  routine  of  life  was  unchanged  in  tlie 
small  house.  Nicholas  and  Nelson  Thorne 
would  graduate  soon,  when  the  latter  would 
take  unto  himself  a  wife.  This  same  hride  in 
prospective  went  cheerfully  ahout  her  home, 
where  the  most  trifling  details  assumed  a  deep- 
er, holier  significance.  Ethel  had  no  part  in 
this  joy  beyond  transient  satisfaction  in  her 
sister's  happiness,  and  she  evaded  tlie  proflfer- 
ed  kindness  of  !Miss  Raines,  from  her  very  con- 
nection with  Captain  Laccr.  She  detested  to 
think  of  him,  and  all  associations  belonging  to 
him.  Thus  the  elder  lady  made  but  trifling 
progress  in  any  of  her  schemes  for  the  girl's 
advancement,  from  a  willful  misunderstanding 
on  the  girl's  own  part.  Perhaps  these  very  ob- 
stacles enhanced  Ethel's  value  in  Miss  Raines's 
estimation.  Did  wounded  pride  occasion  sud- 
den blushes  and  tremors,  when  a  well-known 
step  was  heard  on  the  walk,  the  impulse  to 
hide  for  hours  unnecessary  stiffness  and  liaugh- 
tiness  of  manner  in  welcoming  the  visitor  af- 
terward ? 

Was  Captain  Lacer  responsible  for  the  vary- 
ing moods,  the  undertone  of  unhappiness,  the 
lack  of  interest  in  any  stated  employment? 
She  always  felt  bound  to  make  herself  disa- 
greeable to  Nelson  Thorne,  and  the  eflfort  cost 
her  some  secret  tears  ;  for,  in  so  doing,  her  love 
of  approbation  must  needs  be  set  aside.  The 
young  man,  on  the  contrary,  was  always  striv- 
ing to  please  her,  to  win  some  kind  word  of 
acknowledgment  from  her,  and  patiently  en- 
dured her  most  extravagant  whim  without  re- 


proach. This  contrast  was  always  rising  up 
before  Ethel,  and  added  to  her  discomfiture. 
Here  was  a  cause  of  no  small  trial ;  Ethel  wish- 
ing to  be  gentle,  winning,  good,  and  appear  at 
her  best,  yet  not  daring  to  obey  the  dictate  of 
her  own  heart. 

"She's  moping  over  that  'ere  capting,'"  re- 
flected Peggy.  "  Might  have  known  how  he'd 
turn  out;  but  she'll  get  over  it.  Ethel's  not 
of  the  pining  sort." 

Yet  Ethel  nursed  her  wrath  ;  found  consola- 
tion in  having  a  grievance  the  like  of^wliicli 
was  never  imposed  on  a  girl  before. 

The  fog  came  creeping  in  over  the  sea, 
swathing  the  i)romontory  in  soft  folds  of  vapor, 
and  gathering  in  drops  on  trees  and  roofs,  like 
gems  on  the  margin  of  a  veil. 

Ethel  Hearn,  in  a  reckless  mood,  was  defy- 
ing the  fog,  and  walking  steadily  onward.  Her 
cloak  was  wet,  her  slender  feet  made  tracks 
in  the  damp  sands,  but  she  did  not  heed  it — 
rather  enjoyed  getting  thoroughly  drenched 
and  wretched.  She  watched  the  break  of  the 
waves,  glimmering  weirdly  through  the  mist, 
and  glanced  from  side  to  side  in  supreme  sat- 
isfiiction  at  her  own  loneliness.  She  liked  to- 
get  away  by  herself  now — she  scarcely  knew 
why ;  her  thoughts  were  not  active,  and  slie 
seldom  used  to  enjoy  solitude. 

"I  suppose  this  is  something  like  our  lives," 
she  soliloquized,  sweeping  the  dim  obscurity 
with  her  hand.  "  We  never  see  one  inch 
ahead." 

Then  some  element  of  the  day  entered  into 
Ethel's  soul.  She  was  treading  the  shifting 
clouds  instead  of  firm  earth,  with  the  monotone 
of  the  sea  rising  about  her.  She  was  the  cen- 
tre of  a  white  sphere,  with  walls  of  opaque 
cryst.al — moving  whither?  What  more  natu- 
ral than  tliat  out  of  such  unreality  should  grow 


86 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


Nelson  Thome,  eager,  radiant,  breathless  ?  She 
might  have  stood  dumbly  gazing  nt  him  —  a 
spectre — for  whole  minutes  before  she  turned 
and  ran  over  the  sands,  obeying  blind  panic,  as 
swiftly  as  ever  Atalanta  sped  before  her  male 
competitors.  Long  striding  steps  followed,  and 
Nelson  held  her  close — a  cajjlivc. 

"Always  luring  me  on,  and  flying  before  nic. 
It  drives  me  mad  !  I  have  got  you  fast,  and  I 
will  keep  you,"  he  said,  a  passionate  exultation 
glowing  in  his  face  entirely  foreign  to  its  usual 
expression. 

Ethel  braced  herself  against  the  arm  that 
held  her.  "Of  course,  mere  brute  force  can 
.always  triumph,  yet  gentlemen  seldom  use  it." 

Nelson's  arm  sank,  and  Ethel's  heart  smote 
her.  Poor  fellow,  he  was  never  brut.il  in  his 
life,  she  knew.  He  took  the  margin  of  her 
cloak  between  finger  and  thumb  to  prevent  fur- 
ther fliglit. 

"  Does  that  offend  your  ladysliip  ?" 

In  spite  of  herself,  she  dimpled  into  a  smile. 
Instantly  the  savage  look  flashed  back  into  his 
foce ;  he  wheeled  around  to  prevent  her  fur- 
ther progress, 

"You  were  not  angry  after  all.  You  like 
to  torment  me.     Good  fun  for  you,  no  doubt!" 

"Please  let  me  pass,  Nelson.  I  did  not 
mean  to  tease  you.  Surely  I  need  not  quarrel 
with  my  second  brother."  The  jvords  told;  his 
lips  quivered  with  pain.  As  for  Ethel,  if  she 
had  strength  to  reach  home  she  would  never 
risk  another  interview  of  this  nature.  She  was 
striving  to  be  loyal  to  Olive. 

"Do  not  go  on.  Stay  here,"  urged  Nelson, 
in  troubled  tones. 

"Are  ypu  expected?"  she  asked,  quickly. 

"  No ;  I  came  to  see  you.  I  could  stay  away 
no  longer." 

"  Hush,"  entreated  Ethel,  in  a  shocked  wliis- 
per,  growing  white,  and  forcing  back  her  tears. 

Tlie  moment  had  arrived  toward  wliich  ev- 
ery ripple  of  laughter,  every  glance  had  con- 
verged, since  the  day  Ethel  returned.  The 
flame  leaped  its  chill  barriers,  all  tlie  more  in- 
tense for  long  repression. 

"  Yon  love  me,"  cried  Nelson.  "  I  know 
that  you  do.  OIi,  my  darling,  she  would  for- 
give us.  How  can  we  help  being  more  to  each 
other  than  all  the  world  besides  ?" 

Ethel  essayed  sarcasm,  and  smiled  weakly. 
If  help  did  not  come  soon,  all  would  be  lost ; 
and  tiie  woman  saw  further  than  the  man ;  be- 
yond this  bridge  of  transient  pleasure  was   a 


realm  of  endless  pain.  On  the  contrary,  Nel- 
son, grown  reckless  and  audacious  in  his  un- 
happiness,  closed  eyes  and  cars  to  eveiy  thing 
but  tlie  fact  that  they  were  alone  together, 
reading  each  other's  souls.  He  had  gained 
possession  of  both  hands,  and  was  raining  pas- 
sionate kisses  on  them.  Gradually  a  wild, 
sweet  triumith  dawned  over  Ethel.  She  was 
loved  despite  all  obstacles,  and  when  she  had 
been  purposely  ill-natured,  dreading  the  new 
influence  in  the  household.  "Why  not  enjoy 
the  moment? 

"You  might  help  me,"  she  whispered. 

"We  will  help  each  other,"  he  murmured, 
re-assuringl}'. 

Fulfillment  of  delirious  dreams  !  Tlie  fair 
face  was  nestling  against  his  breast;  his  arms 
held  the  treasure ;  their  lips  met.  At  last ! 
at  last !  The  fog  changed  from  /ghostly  white 
to  tawny  orange,  a  light  breeze  stirred  along 
the  sands,  and  parted  the  fleecy  mantle  in  rifts 
of  gold.  Olive,  secure  and  trrstful  in  her 
happiness,  judging  the  stainless  honor  of  oth- 
ers by  her  own,  saw  it  all.  One  low  groan  of 
mortal  anguish  was  wrung  from  her  heart,  then 
came  blessed,  merciful  darkness. 

Mr.  John  Raines,  bent  on  his  own  affairs, 
yet  destined  to  play  a  part  in  this  domestic 
drama,  discovered  her  all  alone. 

"What  can  have  happened  to  the  poor 
child?"  thought  the  gentleman.  "Dear  me! 
This  seems  to  be  a  most  unfortunate  famil}-." 

With  that  he  raised  her,  and  Olive's  first  im- 
pulse was  to  eft'ace  any  suspicion  of  the  truth 
from  Mr.  Raines's  mind. 

"  I  can  not  imagine  how  it  hajipened,"  she 
said. 

"You  slipped,  and  turned  your  ankle,  per- 
haps," he  suggested,  oftering  his  arm. 

"Possibly,"  assented  tlie  little  sister,  steadi- 
ly ;  but  she  accepted  the  arm,  for  she  was  gid- 
dy and  stunned.  "What  had  happened  ?  "Was 
she  still  in  the  body  or  out?  Ethel  stood  at 
the  door,  anxiously  watching  her  approach. 
Again  the  great  pain  quivered  through  Olive's 
frame  at  sight  of  her  sister.  The  younger  girl 
was  not  one  whit  behind  her  in  self-command  ; 
she  ran  down  the  path  with  eager  inquiries ; 
she  supported  Olive,  and  thanked  Mr.  Raines 
for  his  assistance.  She  even  managed  to  in- 
quire about  Miss  Raines.  They  entered  the 
house,  closed  the  door,  looked  at  each  other 
earnestly,  and  Ethel  cowered  down  at  Olive's 
feet. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


AFTERWARD. 


WHEN  tlie  little  sister  opened  her  eyes, 
misery  awaited  her  waking  moments  to 
fasten  on  her  for  another  day.  Slie  felt  a  sick- 
ening dread  of  tlie  burden,  a  longing  to  creep 
away  somewhere  and  be  at  rest.  Where  were 
all  her  bright  dreams  of  a  home  of  her  own 
now  ?  Of  what  use  was  all  the  pretty  finery 
prepared  by  her  industrious  fingers,  when  her 
thoughts  flew  faster  than  her  needle?  She  put 
away  the  linen  and  embroidery  drearily,  and 
turned  the  key  on  them,  with  the  heart-ache 
one  feels  in  laying  aside  relics  of  the  dead. 

There  had  been  tears  and  lamentations,  re- 
proach for  Ethel,  but  never  from  the  lips  of  her 
sister.  Olive  could  not  bear  to  look  at  Ethel, 
to  feel  her  near  approach,  yet  she  was  .able  to 
restrain  her  own  speech  by  a  resolute  silence. 

Nelson,  torn  by  conflicting  desires  and  a 
sense  of  duty,  had  begged  to  see  Olive  once 
more,  when  she  sent  him  down  the  ring  select- 
ed by  Experience  Thorne  for  her  to  wear,  and 
she  had  refused. 

"  He  s.nys  that  he  will  never  trouble  you 
again,"  said  Peggy,  very  grim  in  appearance  at 
this  crisis. 

"I  can  not  see  him,"  asserted  Olive,  lying 
on  her  bed  in  the  darkened  chamber,  with  a 
handkerchief  over  her  eyes.  When  Peggy 
reached  the  door  she  bethought  her  of  an  ex- 
pedient. 

"Tell  him  tliat  I  will  sec  him  later;  in  a 
month,  perhaps." 

After  all,  how  natural  it  was  he  should  pre- 
fer Ethel.  By-and-by,  when  he  had  forgotten 
her,  she  might  be  the  means  of  bringing  them 
together.  The  woman's  soul  cried  out  against 
being  forgotten.  She  did  not  wish  to  live  to 
see  them  married.  And  so  the  days  went  by, 
with  Olive  Hearn  fighting  a  desperate  battle  in 
the  little  chamber  before  she  conquered.  In 
the  mean  while.  Nelson  was  on  the  rack.  He 
had  a  long  interview  with  Mrs.  Hearn,  from 


which  he  emerged  pale  and  grave.  Then  fol- 
lowed a  stormy  one  with  Ethel.  The  elder 
sister  would  have  made  him  a  loving,  faithful 
wife ;  the  younger  one  captivated  his  fiincy  by 
the  charm  of  lovely  features,  waving  hair,  grace 
of  motion.  Olive  would  have  made  sacrifices 
for  him,  which  he  might  have  accepted  uncon- 
sciously ;  for  Ethel  he  would  have  sacrificed 
all. 

The  hitter  sat  by  the  window  of  the  parlor, 
pale,  distressed,  sullen.  Nelson  stood  gazing 
out  at  the  spot  where  Nicholas  had  placed  the 
engine,  wondering  moodily  if  it  would  have  been 
better  had  he  never  come.  Then  his  glance 
fell  on  the  golden  head  beside  him,  and  the 
harsh  thought  melted  to  one  of  tenderness. 

"  I  know  that  I  must  appear  a  scoundrel  to 
her,  but  in  time — "  he  began  drumming  on  the 
pane. 

"Time  can  make  no  difi'erence,  so  far  as  I 
am  concerned.  How  is  it  treating  my  only 
sister,  who  has  been  so  good  to  me?  Do  you 
su])pose  I  don't  know,  just  because  I  am  heed- 
less and  careless  ?  How  could  I  look  any  of 
them  in  the  face  again  ?" 

"  Then  I  have  lost  all,"  responded  the  young 
man,  slowly. 

Ethel's  sole  reply  w-as  a  low  sob.  Nelson 
turned  to  soothe  and  comfort  her  directly.  He 
knelt  down  beside  her,  and  put  one  arm  around 
her  slender  waist.  The  color  dawned  again  in 
his  face  as  he  whispered,  eagerly, 

"Come  with  me  now.  Matters  could  not 
be  worse.  We  can  get  married,  and  then  re- 
turn to  be  forgiven.  I  will  take  all  the  blame. 
They  shall  not  scold  you,  love.  Say  yes  1 
Come." 

He  turned  the  pale  face  gently  until  it  rest- 
ed against  his  cheek,  and  renewed  his  petitions 
in  her  ear.  Then  Ethel  drew  a  long,  shudder- 
ing breath,  and  considered.  Slie  longed  to 
throw  herself  on  his  broad  breast,  and  allow 


88 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


him  to  take  tlie  responsibility.  How  sad  and 
miserable  they  would  be  when  he  was  gone! 
13iit  then  the  little  sister,  robbed  and  wounded, 
K-ft  desolate  !     Ethel  drew  bark. 

"Ifwc  have  patience,  I  am  sure  it  will  come 
right  eventually.  Will  you  wait  fur  me,  dear?" 
he  pursued,  hopefully,  and  .still  fighting  fur  the 
ascendency. 

"Good  heavens!  Have  you  no  conscience, 
no  remorse  for  what  you  have  done  ?  Is  it  a 
trifle  in  your  eyes  to  ruin  a  life?  Nelson,  you 
will  be  sorry  for  all  this  some  time.  Try  to  be 
brave  and  good  now.  You  must  go  away.  Do 
not  tempt  me." 

"If  Olive  forgives  mc,  will  you  marry  mc?" 
Nelson  had  risen  to  his  feet. 

"No." 

"Will  you  marry  another  man?"  he  asked, 
desperately. 

"Yes,  I  shall  accept  my  first  offer,"  said 
Ethel,  with  whitening  lips. 

"Can  I  do  any  thing  for  you?  I  am  go- 
ing." 

"The  greatest  kindness  you  can  do  mc  is 
never  to  see  me  again."  It  was  impossible  not 
to  feel  a  yearning  toward  him.  Ethel  never 
moved  from  her  scat,  but  Nelson  did  not  for- 
get for  many  a  year  the  look  she  turned  on 
him  at  the  door,  as  of  one  receding  mute,  help- 
less, and  without  personal  volition.  And  Nel- 
son went  away  without  consolation  or  hope. 
The  young  man's  lines  were  no  longer  cast  in 
pleasant  places.  Experience  Thorne  was  hor- 
rified at  the  denouement.  He  visited  wrath 
and  invective  on  his  son  for  the  insane  course 
he  had  pursued. 

"What!  Was  it  not  sufficient  for  you  to 
gain  the  love  of  the  good  one  ?" 

"Ethel  is  equally  good,"  retorted  Nelson, 
hotly. 

"  Pooh !     A  jade.     A  meddlesome  jade !" 

After  a  pause,  the  father  inquired,  with  cui- 
ting  irony, 

"May  I  ask  what  your  future  intentions 
are  ?" 

"I  am  going  away.  I  have  always  been  a 
source  of  contempt  to  you  since  early  boyhood. 
I  have  tried  to  be  respectful,  and  as  there  seems 
to  be  nothing  remaining  to  be  said,  I  will  leave. 
I  am  now  old  enough  to  exercise  discretion 
about  my  own  affairs." 

Nelson  had  never  thus  defied  his  p.irents 
before. 

"I  might  have  known  it  would  end  so,"  said 
Experience  Thorne,  bitterly. 

Nelson  took  this  reproach  wholly  to  himself, 
as  a  more  tender-hearted  father  might  have 
foreseen  ;  but  Experience  Thome's  words  had 


a  deeper  meaning.  "And  now  she  will  marry 
somebody  else,"  the  elder  man  pursued,  slowly 
rubbing  his  hands  over  his  knees.  "A  good 
man,  capable  of  being  respected,  I  hope." 

Nelson  started  :  he  had  not  thought  of  Olive 
in  the  way  of  marrying.  He  went  to  his  room, 
rich  with  the  mementos  of  his  boyhood,  and 
buried  his  head  in  his  arms  on  the  table.  On 
the  wall  gleamed  the  letters,  placed  there  so 
long  ago  by  his  father ; 

"  Unstable  as  water,  thou  shalt  not  excel." 

He  felt  like  a  criminal  banished  from  his 
own  kind.  He  was  an  exile  thrust  forth  from 
the  paradise  he  had  so  lately  occupied,  shamed, 
remorseful,  and  with  wounded  self-love.  While 
he  rested  there  in  silence,  Ethel  Ilearn,  the  oth- 
er culprit,  was  approaching  timidly  her  moth- 
er's door  in  much  the  same  mood,  her  only 
refuge  to  throw  herself  down  beside  that  moth- 
er, sobbing  piteously, 

"I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I  am  in  the 
way.     Oh  !  mother,  I  cared  for  him  too." 

The  little  sister,  standing  by  her  window  in 
the  darkness,  saw  God's  glory  as  on  a  curtain, 
with  the  pale,  aurora  fires  scintillating  over  it. 
The  curtain  stirred  and  throbbed  with  undula- 
tory  ripples  from  horizon  to  zeniih,  the  efful- 
gence of  an  unseen  splendor,  as  if  moved  by  the 
current  of  a  divine  will.  If  the  cloud  drapery 
were  furled,  what  wonders  might  be  revealed  I 
The  sorrow  of  Olive  Plearn  faded,  was  swept 
away  in  the  contemplation.  How  insignifi- 
cant she  seemed  compared  with  the  kindling 
of  the  heavens  by  the  torch  of  nature.  Then, 
just  as  she  seemed  about  to  be  crushed  by  a 
conviction  of  her  own  insignificance,  she  re- 
membered a  tiny  insect  traversing  the  garden 
fence,  clad  in  armor  of  frosted  pearl,  with  jew- 
eled wings,  and  eyes  like  ruby  ])oints.  Sure- 
ly she  was  not  smaller  in  the  great  Master's 
estimation  than  the  minutely  perfect  insect. 

"There  remaineth  a  rest  for  the  peojile  of 
God,"  said  Mrs.  Hearn,  solemnly  and  wearily. 

She  had  come  to  Olive  in  her  need,  and  the 
girl's  heart  went  out  to  her.  She  could  ntter 
no  words  of  commonplace  condolence.  Life 
had  been  to  her  so  grievous  an  ordeal  that  she 
could  only  point  to  the  hereafter  of  peace,  gaz- 
ing also  at  the  cloud-curtain. 

"How  I  have  neglected  you!"  exclaimed 
Olive  ;  and  the  reminder  was  salutary. 

The  little  house  pursued  its  usual  routine. 

When  Nelson  Tliorne  raised  his  head  in  his 
silent  chamber,  he  had  formed  his  resolution. 
Having  learned  to  despise  himself,  he  deter- 
mined to  make  the  world  respect  him.  The 
war-note  thrilled  through  the  land,  and  Nelson 
became  a  soldier. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


THE   MEMBER   FOR   MILLYILLE. 


THE  residence  of  Jared  Ileavn  was  a  marvel 
in  its  way.  There  were  wooden  towers 
and  gables,  projecting  windows  and  balconies. 
It  had  the  appearance  of  crowding  its  neigh- 
bors on  the  village  street,  and  a  small  fountain, 
crowned  by  a  flesh-colored  cupid,  ornamented 
the  patch  of  greensward  between  the  entrance 
door  and  the  highly-painted  fence. 

Over  the  way  Mr.  Pettigrew  acknowledged 
no  such  supremacy  as  the  meek  little  houses 
around  accorded.  Mr.  Pettigrew  boasted  also 
a  gabled  mansion  ;  and  not  only  a  fountain  in 
the  front  yard,  but  statuary,  and  a  conserva- 
tory. In  a  word,  Jared  Ilearn  and  Eliphalet 
Pettigi'ew  were  rival  manufacturers.  If  the 
Miss  Hearns  were  given  a  horse  by  their  fond 
parents,  the  Miss  Pettigrews  at  once  "set  up" 
a  pony  carriage.  If  Mrs.  Pettigrew  appeared 
in  church  draped  in  a  new  lace  shawl,  Mrs. 
Hearn  might  be  relied  upon  to  sail  up  the  aisle 
the  very  next  Sabbath  in  one  of  richer  quali- 
ty. Nor  was  the  competition  confined  to  the 
feminine  portion  of  the  families  alone.  The 
MlUville  Free  Lance  was  known  to  be  the  or- 
gan of  Jared  Hearn,  while  the  Advocate  was  as 
loyally  enlisted  in  the  cause  of  Eliphalet  Petti- 
grew and  his  calicoes. 

Millville  thrived  apace  under  the  stimulus 
of  this  zeal,  having  already  sprung  from  village 
infancy  to  the  middle  growth  of  a  town,  and 
aspired,  at  no  distant  day,  to  becoming  a  city. 
If  Mr.  Pettigrew  paved  a  street,  I\Ir.  Hearn  was 
spurred  on  to  pave  two  thoroughfiires.  Mill- 
ville also  projected  gas-works  and  a  branch 
railroad,  but  here  matters  became  involved 
hopelessly.  The  two  proprietors  could  never 
be  expected  to  unite  in  pushing  the  same  rail- 
road or  the  identical  gas-works  contemplated, 
so,  for  the  nonce,  Millville  was  left  in  darkness, 
and  to  follow  the  old  track.  For  the  rest,  they 
were  the  best  neighbors  possible ;  both  deacons 


of  the  Millville  church,  and  vied  with  each 
other  in  decorating  the  sanctuarj'.  Both  were 
shrewd  business  men,  and  fully  intended  to 
extract  the  money's  worth  out  of  "  the  hands." 
In  appearance  they  differed  ;  IMr.  Pettigrew 
being  short,  stout  and  pussy,  with  an  altogeth- 
er jolly  aspect,  as  of  a  man  who  thought  much 
of  his  dinner;  and  Jared  Hearn  tall,  thin,  hard- 
favored,  with  the  soured  aspect  of  one  whose 
digestion  is  a  burden. 

Mrs.  Hearn  was  in  her  medicine-closet,  sur- 
veying the  shelves  with  a  reflective  eye,  while 
a  poor  woman  waited  at  the  door. 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  some  '  oh  be  joyful ' 
would  not  help  your  cramp  more  than  the  elix- 
ir, Betty." 

"I  think  it  would,  ma'am,"  responded  Bet- 
ty, with  the  slightest  possible  twinkle  in  her 
small  eyes. 

Mrs.  Hearn,  without  further  comment,  pour- 
ed some  Holland  gin  into  a  small  glass — the 
liquor  which  she  had  designated  by  the  above 
enlivening  name.  The  manufacturer's  lady  was 
an  excellent  housekeeper  and  manager,  but  she 
appeared  to  the  greatest  advantage  in  the  med- 
icine-closet. How  comprehensively  her  glance 
swept  the  Vows  of  patent  remedies  for  every 
known  ill  flesh  is  heir  to !  How  vigilantly  she 
watched  for  symptoms  in  her  family,  so  accu- 
rately described  on  labels !  Although  not  an 
educated  woman,  she  was,  in  one  sense  of  the 
word,  scientific  ;  she  personally  tested  every 
fresh  discovery  emanating  from  the  apotheca- 
ry's shop.  Her  children  grew  up  pale  and  sick- 
ly. Whether  there  would  have  been  less  nerv- 
ous headache,  fewer  fainting-fits,  with  plenty 
of  fresh  air  and  exercise,  is  a  question  which 
never  disturbed  the  mother.  The  Miss  llearns, 
with  education  completed,  and  nothing  what- 
ever to  do,  languished  in  the  sitting-room  over 
worsted -work,  music,  and  French,  finding  e.x- 


90 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


citcmcnt  only  in  watching  the  advent  of  a 
stranger  at  the  Pettigrew's  opposite.  Lina,  in 
the  kitclien,  bared  plump  arms  to  wield  the 
scrubljing-brush,  and  wore  roses  of  health  in 
her  cheeks,  such  as  never  bloomed  in  the  par- 
lor. As  utterly  useless  girls  are  reared  in 
country  as  city,  and  they  are  the  children  of 
industrious  parents.  Jarcd  Hcarn  toiled  ear- 
ly and  late,  with  furrowed  lines  growing  ever 
deeper  in  his  care-worn  face,  and  Jlrs.  llearn 
was  far  more  frequently  to  be  found  in  the 
kitchen  than  any  other  portion  of  the  house ; 
yet  their  daughters,  one  step  removed  from  ne- 
cessity, rather  prided  themselves  on  their  en- 
tire ignorance  of  work. 

"I'm  afraid  your  father  will  get  one  of  his 
attacks  after  this  excitement.  He's  run  down 
with  business  considerably  already."  Thus 
spake  the  mother,  entering  the  room  wjicre  her 
daughters  sat,  wiping  her  hands  on  her  apron 
from  force  of  habit  rather  than  necessity  for  the 
operation.  "  Dear  me  I  It  puts  me  all  in  a 
flurrj-  to  think  of  it.  Father's  heart  is  set  on 
beating,  and  if  he  docs  we  shall  have  to  live  in 
Washington.  Seems  as  if  I  should  sink  riglit 
through  the  floor  when  I  think  of  facing  the 
nation  like  that." 

"It  will  be  splendid,"  commented  Susie, 
drawing  lier  worsted  through  the  canvas,  with 
a  yawn. 

"  For  mercy's  sake,  ma,  don't  have  it  travel- 
ing through  the  town  that  you  are  afraid,"  said 
Sophia. 

"T  don't  intend  to,"  replied  Jlrs.  Ilearn, 
in  rather  an  aggrieved  tone.  "  Look,  girls  1 
Quick!  Isn't  that  Judge  Blank  and  Bell  go- 
ing into  the  Pettigrcws  ?  I  declare !  S'pose 
they'll  talk  him  over  in  no  time.  Bell's  setting 
her  cap  for  Silas  Pettigrew.  Theij  say  it  would 
be  a  good  thing.  Well,  father  can  do  without 
him,  I  guess.     That  girl  is  coming  to-daj-." 

"That  girl"  was  Olive  Hearn,  descending 
from  the  train  at  the  very  moment,  and  wel- 
comed impetuously  by  a  red-haired  youth. 

Nicholas  Ilearn  had  lost  no  time  after  he 
graduated  in  seeking  employment.  He  had  the 
debt  of  his  college  term  to  pay  to  the  benefac- 
tor he  had  found,  and  he  was  firm  in  the  faith 
that  he  should  be  able  to  accomplish  it.  As  a 
first  step,  he  asked  to  be  taken  into  the  service 
of  Jared  Ilearn,  for  the  reason  that  in  a  manu- 
facturing town  he  would  have  opportunity  for 
study. 

"  Perhaps  I  may  be  his  chemist  yet,"  said 
Nicholas  the  sanguine,  and  went  with  his  moth- 
er's blessing.  Two  weeks  later,  Jared  Ilearn 
invited  Olive  to  visit  his  familv — an  offer  ea- 


gerly accepted  by  the  mother,  as  giving  the  lit- 
tle sister  a  change  at  the  time  when  tiie  daily 
round  of  her  life  was  irksome.  Whether  the 
uncle,  thus  reminded  of  their  existence,  really 
felt  a  desire  to  see  his  brother's  children,  or 
the  mother  obtained  the  invitation,  Olive  never 
knew.  The  first  greetings  over — and  Nicholas 
did  not  before  appreciate  how  fond  he  was  of 
the  little  sister — she  asked, 

"And  how  do  you  like  it?" 

"  So  so,"  replied  Nicholas,  swinging  her  bag 
as  tliey  walked  along.  "  Family  well  enough  ; 
work  hard  ;  pay  scrimpy.  I  say,  Olive,  Uncle 
Jared  is  a  screw.  I'd  be  ashamed  to  do  things 
he  does  if  I  was  a  rich  man." 

"We  must  not  judge  him,  dear." 

"Of  course  not,  Mrs.  Goody.  There's  a 
great  row  going  on  here.  A  week  will  decide 
whether  you  have  an  uncle  who  is  an  M.  C.  or 
not.  It  is  Pettigrew  versus  Hearn  ;  and  don't 
they  go  it !  Even  the  factory  hands  meet  at 
night,  and  pound  each  other  black  and  blue. 
Here  we  are." 

Having  fortified  his  sister  with  this  amount 
of  information,  Nicholas  deposited  her  in  the 
large  mansion,  and  sped  swiftly  back  to  duty 
on  a  high  stool  in  the  factory  office.  Olive 
was  received  politely  by  her  uncle  and  aunt, 
with  visible  curiosity  by  her  cousins.  She  was 
not  ushered  into  the  state  guest-chamber  fur- 
nished with  blue  and  gilt,  yet  in  the  smaller 
one  accorded  her  sleep  was  equally  sweet.  The 
little  sister,  observant  of  trifles,  compressed  her 
lips,  and  wrote  home  the  most  flowery  epistles, 
for  which  she  may  surely  be  forgiven. 

The  waves  of  strife  ran  mountains  high  in 
Jlillville.  The  whole  town  was  agog  with  ex- 
citement, and  the  good  minister  could  not,  for 
the  life  of  him,  help  giving  his  sermon  a  polit- 
ical tinge.  In  the  stores  old  and  young  poli- 
ticians uttered  their  ojjinions  freely,  while  seat- 
ed on  barrels  chewing  tobacco.  In  the  dram- 
shops fusil  oil  heated  the  dhgry  debates  among 
the  hands.  The  rival  editors  were  perpetually 
hovering  about  the  telegraph-ofiice,  and  staring 
haughtily  at  each  other.  But  when  Mr.  Petti- 
grew encountered  Mr.  Hearn,  the  two  gentle- 
men shook  hands  with  great  cordiality,  and  in- 
quired very  particularly  after  the  health  of  the 
respective  families. 

As  the  important  election-day  approached, 
!Mrs.  Ilearn  had  recourse  to  the  medicine-clos- 
et, anticipating  collapse.  Beliold  the  morn- 
ing ushered  in,  fraught  with  brilliant  victory  or 
defeat.  The  gabled  houses,  standing  face  to 
face,  represented  the  extremes  of  a  seesaw,  and 
Millville  stood  on  tiptoe  to  watch  the  result. 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


SI 


Nicholas,  at  liis  desk,  was  undisturbed  by 
the  general  excitement,  for  his  mind  was  stray- 
ing on  other  things.  Leaning  liis  head  on  liis 
hand,  he  traced  a  plan  on  the  paper  before  him. 
He  was  disturbed  by  the  hasty  entrance  of  his 
uncle.  The  face  of  Jared  Hearn  was  pale  with 
anger. 

"How  do  you  dare  to  come  here  and  dis- 
grace me  !     I  took  you  out  of  charity,  too." 

This  was  not  strictly  true.  The  uncle  had 
taken  a  new  clerk  in  the  person  of  his  nephew, 
because  he  thought  the  nephew  might  be  use- 
ful. "What  if  Nicholas  proved  an  inventor, 
might  not  the  benefit  accrue  to  innisolf  ?  Mrs. 
Hearn,  in  recommending  her  son,  had  not  fail- 
ed to  set  forth  his  talents,  and  the  description 
had  made  a  certain  impression.  It  happened 
that  Millville,  almost  hysterical  from  the  sen- 
sation, was  laughing  at  Mr.  Hearn,  and  he 
could  by  no  means  endure  the  ridicule  of  his 
fellow-townsmen.  Wc  Americans  are  remark- 
ably sensitive  to  ridicule  at  all  times,  but  Ja- 
red Hearn  was  additionally  so,  from  the  weekly 
flaying  of  the  Advocate  since  his  nomination. 

Nicholas  dropped  his  pen,  and  looked  at 
him. 

"Hold  me  up  to  be  the  laughing-stock  of 
the  whole  place,  will  ye  ?  Like  your  impu- 
dence !  I  dare  say  your  mother  is  at  the  bot- 
tom of  it  all,"  fumed  Jared. 

"What  have  I  done?"  cried  Nicholas. 

"I  am  to  stand  any  thing  for  the  sake  of 
your  valuable  services.  As  if  there  were  not 
forty  lads  in  this  very  village  who  would  do 
better  than  you,  and  for  less  money." 

"Suppose  you  explain." 

"  You  have  chosen  to  associate  with  George 
Whitby  because  he  is  the  worst  enemy  I  have. 
He  gathers  every  knave  he  can  find  at  his 
place,  to  plot  mischief  and  defeat  my  elec- 
tion." 

"  George,  the  blacksmith  ?     Ha,  ha !" 

Jared  Hearn  looked  at  his  audacious  young 
kinsman  with  lowering  brows,  and  Nicholas 
knew  that  all  M'as  over.  Now  George,  the 
blacksmith,  a  burly  giant,  whose  stentorian 
voice  rang  out  above  the  blows  of  the  hammer, 
was  a  good  fellow  in  his  way.  A  natural  pow- 
er of  attraction  brought  Nicholas  to  his  forge, 
the  attraction  of  a  furnace,  glowing  with  a 
tempting  invitation  to  fuse  metal,  and  much 
practical  sense  in  his  own  walk  of  life,  on  the 
blacksmith's  part.  Concerning  the  political 
prejudices  of  George,  Nicholas  had  no  thought. 
His  stay  in  Millville  had  been  brief;  but  during 
that  time  he  loved  to  loiter  in  the  forge  when 
his  day's   work   was  done,   and   the   shadows 


played  odd  ti'icks  with  tiie  giant's  form,  as  he 
came  and  went  througli  the  ruddy  fire-glow. 
Dear  to  the  heart  of  a  college  graduate  is  it 
to  impart  knowledge,  and  Nicholas  found  an 
interesting  listener  in  the  blacksmith.  The 
grain  of  a  man's  coat  never  had  much  weight 
with  Nicholas  Hearn. 

Lo!  Millville  observed  the  intimacy;  the 
Advocate  smacked  its  lips,  and  inserted  a  ma- 
licious little  sting  to  the  elfcct  that,  if  our  fel- 
low-citizen could  not  control  the  vote  of  his 
own  household,  he  need  not  expect  to  rule 
IMillville.  A  very  near  relation  was  under- 
stood to  be  ringleader  at  George  Whitby's 
shop.  To  Nicholas  the  accusation  seemed  ri- 
diculous. 

"You  arc  mistaken.  George  is  a  good 
man,  and — " 

"You  teach  me!  I  am  rightly  served  for 
having  any  thing  to  do  with  you  after  your  fa- 
ther— " 

."Stop!  Not  a  word  about  my  father." 
Nicholas  was  angry  at  last. 

"Hoity-toity  !  Pay  me  the  twenty-five  thou- 
sand dpllars  he  cost  me,  and  I  will  gladly  be  si- 
lent." 

"I  will  pay  you  some  time,"  taking  his  hat 
from  the  peg,  and  preparing  to  depart.  Then 
Nicholas  went  out  without  another  word.  Ja- 
red Hearn  knew  that  he  had  gone  too  far,  had 
said  more  than  he  intended,  but  he  would  not 
retract  a  word.  Anger  is  a  terribly  expensive 
luxury ;  still,  the  candidate  for  Congress  had  a 
nervous  headache  that  morning,  after  a  sleep- 
less night. 

Verily  one  does  not  know  what  a  day  will 
bring  forth.  Olive  sat  by  the  window,  watch- 
ing the  little  fountain  in  the  yard,  always  aspi- 
ring in  a  slender  spray,  always  sinking  back. 
The  Miss  Hearns  were  acting  as  a  reserve 
corps  behind  the  closed  blind  to  report  the  con- 
dition of  the  popular  mind,  as  evinced  by  the 
appearance  of  the  village  street.  A  letter  was 
given  to  Olive,  directed  in  Peggy's  queer, 
cramped  handwriting. 

"  Dear  Girl, — You  must  come  right  home. 
I  can't  find  Ethel.     Your  mother  don't  know. 

"Peggy." 

Olive  sprang  up  wildly. 

"  I  must  go,"  she  said. 

At  the  door  she  encountered  Nicholas,  not 
less  agitated,  although  from  a  diff'erent  cause. 

"We  can  take  the  four  o'clock  train,"  he 
said,  hurriedly. 

"  Yes.     Do  you  know  already  ?" 

"  Do  you  know  ?" 


92 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


Rapid  cxi)lanations  fulloweJ,  and  Olive's  vis- 
it was  thus  brought  to  an  unexpected  close. 
Her  departure  had  the  advantage  of  saving  her 
from  the  indignation  of  her  aunt,  who  had  not 
yet  learned  of  the  enormity  of  Nicholas  Hearn's 
offense.  The  young  man  did  not  see  his  un- 
cle again,  nor  did  he  demand  any  salary. 

"I  should  like  to  see  him  oft'er  to  i>ny  me, 
after  telling  me  that  my  father  was  a  thief," 
blazed  hot-headed  youth.  But  to  the  credit 
of  Jarcd  Hearn  be  it  said,  that  he  did  not  of- 
fend youth's  susceptibility  in  any  such  way. 

When  the  brother  and  sister  were  seated  in 
the  cars,  a  large  man  pushed  his  way  through 
the  crowd  on  the  platform  and  accosted  Nicho- 
las. It  was  Giant  George,  expressing  his  good- 
will in  this  conspicuous  way  in  the  eyes  of  all 
Millvillc. 

"I  am  sorry  to  lose  ye,"  he  said,  heartily, 
and  touched  his  hat  to  Olive  with  the  dignity 
of  one  of  nature's  noblemen.  "When  you  are 
a  great  man,  don't  forget  me.  If  ye  ever  want 
a  hint  that  I've  hammered  out,  drop  me  a  line 
and  welcome.  I  hope  you've  got  our  wheel 
all  right." 

"No;  I  left  it  on  the  desk." 

"May  I  get  it?"  asked  George,  quietly. 

"If  you  choose.     Good-bye." 

Giant  George  stood  on  the  platform,  hands 
in  his  pockets,  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  as  the 
train  glided  away,  and  a  cheer  floated  to  the 
ear  from  the  town.  It  was  the  decisive  hour. 
Millville  was  shouting  itself  hoarse  with  enthu- 


siasm ;  the  Advocate  unfurled  the  stars  and 
stripes  to  the  breeze  at  this  auspicious  mo- 
ment ;  the  blinds  of  the  Pcttigrew  mansion 
flew  up,  revealing  the  Miss  Pettigrews  with 
pink  bows  in  their  hair ;  the  blinds  of  the 
Ilearn  house  remained  down,  and  behind  them 
sat  Mrs.  Ilearn,  dissolved  in  tears,  a  camphor- 
bottle  in  her  hand.  Eliphalet  Pcttigrew  was 
the  member  of  Congress  by  two  hundred  ma- 
jority. 

The  blacksmith  made  his  way  to  the  ofiicc 
door  of  the  Ilearn  factory.  Perhaps  he  was 
thinking  of  a  time  when  the  proprietor  had  re- 
fused to  loan  him  a  sum  suflicient  to  start  in 
life,  and  had  demanded  even  the  payment  of 
rent  in  advance,  llesult :  George  had  appeal- 
ed to  Mr.  Pcttigrew,  who  had  built  him  the 
forge  on  easy  terms.  Jarcd  Ilearn  was  not  so 
much  an  unjust  as  a  cautious  man ;  he  liked  to 
see  his  equivalent  before  taking  a  risk.  The 
world  repays  us  in  our  own  coin.  Mr.  Petti- 
grew  made  a  warm  partisan  by  a  really  gener- 
ous action,  and  Giant  George  was  worthy  of 
confidence,  while  Jared  Hearn  made  an  enemy. 
The  blacksmith  pushed  boldly  into  the  office. 
"  I\Ir.  Ilearn,  I'll  trouble  ye  for  a  paper  left 
here  by  your  nephew,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Hearn  held  the  paper  in  his  hand  at 
the  moment.  His  reply  was  to  place  it  in  the 
desk  and  turn  the  key. 

"It  is  useless,  as  far  as  I  can  see.  I  will 
communicate  with  him  about  it,"  he  replied, 
coldly. 


<^ 


CEAPTER  XXIX. 


ETHEL. 


THE  summer  evening  was  closing  in,  and 
the  Hearn  house  at  Sheliport  looked  de- 
serted, save  for  a  star  of  light  in  the  mother's 
room. 

A  slight  form,  veiled,  and  carrying  a  small 
traveling-bag,  emerged  from  the  door.  It  was 
Ethel.  She  glanced  back  wistfully  at  the  lit- 
tle house,  and  a  great  sob  shook  her  like  a 
reed.  If  she  might  only  turn  now,  and  throw 
herself  on  her  mother's  breast,  telling  her  all ! 
But  that  she  could  not  do.  Even  heedless 
Ethel  had  learned  not  to  worry  the  mother  by 
useless  complaints.  The  star  of  light  glim- 
mered in  the  window;  even  then  her  courage 
wavered,  when  Peggy's  ungainly  shadow  was 
thrown  on  the  curtain.  That  turned  the  bal- 
ance. She  fled  from  her  home  as  Joseph  Kost 
had  done.  These  two  young  creatures  of  dif- 
ferent races,  destined  never  to  meet,  yet  bound 
by  a  common  interest,  pursued  the  same  course. 

Ethel  believed  she  was  going  for  the  good 
of  her  family,  and  she  also  intended  to  punish 
Peggy  in  her  flight.  Peggy  would  be  sorry 
that  she  had  talked  to  her  with  such  severity. 
She  had  told  Ethel  that  the  little  sister's  mis- 
ery was  entirely  her  fault ;  that  every  act  of 
Olive's  life  had  been  a  voluntary  s.-jcrifice  for 
her ;  and  when  this  prize — a  good  husband — 
had  come,  she  must  grasp  at  it  too.  Every 
word  uttered  by  Peggy  stabbed  the  listener's 
heart  with  fresh  pain.  How  could  she  help 
Nelson's  falling  in  love  with  her  ?  IIow  could 
she  help  loving  him  in  return  ? 

"  If  I  was  only  dead  and  buried,  I  should  be 
out  of  people's  way,"  said  the  girl  bitter]}-,  with 
tearless  eyes. 

"  That's  no  way  to  take  things,"  said  Peggy, 
softened. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  ?"  in  a  dull,  constrained 
tone 


"  Try  to  mend  it  somehow." 

All  day  Ethel  went  about  declaring  mental- 
ly that  she  would  mend  it ;  at  evening  she  dis- 
appeared. Ethel  Ilearn  knew  no  more  of  the 
evil  of  this  earth  than  a  baby.  Her  expe- 
rience had  taught  her  that  there  Avere  ill-na- 
tured people,  hard  in  their  dealings ;  but  of 
lower  depths  of  sin  she  was  ignorant.  She 
lacked  even  the  education  gained  at  school 
among  school-girls.  The  mother  held  a  theo- 
ry that  a  young  girl's  mind  should  be  kept  like 
snow. 

Ethel  stood  on  the  pier,  with  ten  dollars  in 
her  purse,  going  forth  to  make  her  fortune. 
Her  castle  of  independence  was  altogether  a 
superb  structure.  She  was  very  much  in  ear- 
nest. She  was  not  the  fairy  princess  awaiting 
the  prince ;  marriage  had  no  longer  any  place 
in  her  thoughts.  She  would  rise  by  means  of 
her  own  exertions,  work  ever  so  hard  to  attain 
perfection,  and  become  a  great  singer.  She 
did  not  intend  to  see  Miss  Raines,  or  tax  her 
uncle's  bounty;  she  would  keep  entirely  to  her- 
self until  she  learned  something.  Perhaps 
Olive  and  Nelson  would  be  wedded  by  that 
time.  A  second  sob  welled  up  from  her  heart. 
It  was  so  terrible  to  be  thrust  forth  from  home 
in  this  way  ;  and  even  if  she  had  no  exact  per- 
ception of  her  audacious  recklessness  in  taking 
this  step,  she  shivered  with  dread  at  the  un- 
certainty of  her  future  —  through  such  deadly 
perils  do  young  girls  pass  in  our  midst.  Bet- 
ter the  Old  World  chaperonage.  Better  con- 
vent rule,  if  we  neither  shield  them,  nor  train 
them  to  a  true  knowledge  of  evil.  Too  often 
tlie  wild  boar  tramples  our  vineyards,  dims  the 
purity  of  "  the  polished  corners  of  the  temple," 
while  we  comfortably  reflect :  Our  American 
girls  are  to  be  trusted.  Why  not,  mesdames 
and   messieurs,  adopt   foreign   espionage   and 


91 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


careful  selection  of  associates,  when  we  arc  so  ; 
fond  of  imitating  Europe  in  dress,  manner,  and 
language  ? 

The  steamer  swept  up  to  the  dock,  gemmed 
with  light  from  bow  to  stern,  and  Ethel  flitted 
on  board  with  the  rest  of  the  passengers.  At 
another  time  she  would  have  been  amused 
watching  the  variety  of  faces ;  now  she  nerv- 
ously shunned  observation,  kept  her  veil  down, 
and  followed  a  family,  with  a  timid  desire  to 
appear  to  be  one  of  them.  Ethel  took  a  stool 
behind  them  on  deck  with  an  envy  bred  of  her^ 
own  loneliness.  The  lady  was  a  mere  bundle 
of  rich  wrappings,  sallow,  peevish,  and  dicta- 
torial. The  husband  was  fat,  smooth,  urbane  ; 
and  it  seemed  to  afford  the  wife  pleasure  to 
find  fault  with  him  when  not  sniffing  disdain- 
fully at  a  gold  vinaigrette,  or  giving  directions 
to  a  French  bonne  concerning  the  sharp-fea- 
tured little  children.  There  was  a  perpetual 
stir  about  them,  a  truly  aristocratic  current. 

"  How  people  gape  on  steamboats !  Really, 
we  must  charter  a  boat  for  our  set  next  sum- 
mer," said  the  lady.  A  sudden  gust  of  wind 
swept  aside  Ethel's  veil.  The  small,  beady 
ej'cs  of  the  fat  gentleman  fastened  on  the  face 
beyond  his  wife's  bonnet  in  surprise  and  bold 
admiration.  Another  passenger  also  saw  Eth- 
el ;  a  large,  handsome  woman,  attired  in  black, 
with  a  profusion  of  jet  and  lace,  and  hard,  cru- 
el eyes.  The  woman  quickly  concealed  her  in- 
terest in  the  solitary  young  girl ;  so  did  the  fixt 
gentleman.  The  supper-gong  sounded,  one  by 
one  people  dropped  away,  leaving  Ethel  almost 
alone.  The  woman  in  black  rose  and  paced 
the  deck  with  the  noiseless,  agile  step  of  a  cat. 

"Are  you  alone,  my  dear?"  a  soft  voice  in- 
quired. 

Ethel  started,  and  looked  into  the  hard  cj-es, 
which  resembled  the  jet  ornaments  in  surface 
glitter,  without  depth. 

"Will  you  go  to  supper  with  me?" 

"No,  I  thank  you,"  rather  coldly.  Ethel 
was  on  her  guard ;  the  stranger  evidently  was 
a  lady,  perhaps  some  friend  of  Miss  Raines, 
and  would  tell  her  all  about  it.  The  woman 
still  smiled. 

"  If  you  wish  any  thing,  I  shall  be  glad  to 
help  you.  !My  room  is  No.  95.  Accidents  oc- 
cur in  the  night  at  times,  you  know." 

Ethel  shuddered  ;  then,  fearing  she  had  been 
ungracious, 

"I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you." 

The  woman  went  to  supper  with  that  feline 
step. 

This  episode  cheered  Eihel.  How  easy  it 
was  to  make  friends  awav  from  hateful  Shell- 


port.  She  might  confide  her  plans  to  the  stran- 
ger, and  ask  her  where  to  go.  O  God,  was 
this  to  be  the  end? 

"Thou  child  of  many  prayers, 
Life  hath  quicksauds,  life  hath  snares." 

Ethel  sat  gazing  at  the  sea,  reflecting  that 
every  surge  of  the  steamer  carried  her  farther 
away  from  home,  and  wondering  when  she 
should  return  to  it.  The  fat  gentleman  ap- 
proached the  unconscious  fugitive  eagerly,  af- 
ter a  cautious  glance  around. 

"  Pardon  me,  but  you  arc  alone,  I  perceive. 
Allow  mc  to  do  something  for  you.  There  is 
less  wind  over  here." 

Ethel  was  puzzled  and  embarrassed.  He 
was  the  father  of  the  little  children,  a  married 
man,  and  therefore  one  in  whom  to  have  confi- 
dence ;  yet  there  was  a  look  in  his  face  before 
which  her  soul  shrank.  The  instinct  dormant 
in  every  woman's  nature  caused  her  to  recog- 
nize in  him  an  enemy. 

"Let  me  see  your  eyes  once  morel  You 
are  so  beautiful." 

"Sir!"  said  Ethel  Hearn,  springing  to  her 
feet. 

He  grasped  her  arm,  dared  her  to  make  an 
outcry,  as  that  would  bring  public  notice  of  a 
damaging  nature  to  herself,  and  poured  rap- 
turous flattery  into  her  ear  which  she  only  half 
understood.  Then  he  deliberately  pressed  his 
full,  red  lips  to  her  delicate,  quivering  mouth. 
Now  the  fat  gentleman,  in  his  right  mind,  would 
have  gone  to  no  such  extreme.  He  had  dined 
before  he  came  on  board,  and  was  in  that 
condition  of  wine  -  drinking  which  made  it 
problematical  whether  he  would  fall  asleep,  or 
be  guilty  of  some  excess.  Do  not  misjudge 
him,  kind  reader;  he  would  never  have  ad- 
dressed one  of  his  own  social  position  as  he 
saw  fit  to  accost  a  girl  traveling  alone,  who  had 
doubtless  run  away  from  somewhere.  If  the 
woman  in  black  had  been  there,  Ethel  would 
have  rushed  to  her  for  protection ;  instead,  she 
was  seated  just  within  the  door  watching. 

How  the  girl  loathed  and  abhorred  the  coarse 
face  barring  her  flight !  Thoroughly  aroused 
to  danger,  angr}-  and  terrified,  she  eluded  him, 
and  flew  around  the  corner  of  the  cabin.  Three 
yards  more  would  have  brought  her  to  the  wom- 
an in  black,  seated  on  the  velvet  sofa,  but  be- 
tween stood  a  man — John  Raines.  The  power 
of  speech  had  frozen  on  Ethel's  lips  by  the  time 
she  reached  him ;  only  two  desperate  little 
hands  clung  to  his  arm  as  if  they  would  never 
again  become  diseng.aged,  and  she  simply  look- 
ed at  him.  There  are  fleeting  expressions  on 
fi\ces  which  we  never  forget.     John  Raines 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


95 


never  quite  lost  interest  in  searching  Ethel's 
eyes  for  the  look  he  found  in  them  that  night 
on  the  boat.  A  wild  animal,  brought  sudden- 
ly to  bay  on  the  precipice  brink,  startled  witli 
a  dawning  perception  of  evil,  yet  sinless,  may 
have  the  same  trembliug  expectancy.  Two 
wells  of  pure  light,  dilated  by  this  terror,  witli 
an  underlying  delight,  incredulity,  and  grati- 
tude for  his  presence  there,  Sir.  Kaines  read, 

"Take  nio  to  IMi.ss  Raines!"  Tliat  was  tlie 
true  chord  to  strike  with  this  brother,  unerring 
tact  might  have  taught  her,  yet  she  was  igno- 
rant of  it.  Fear  had  quenched  her  heroism. 
Miss  Raines  was  always  good  to  her. 

"  You  are  frightened,"  he  said,  re-assuringly. 

"That  man," gasped  the  girl. 

At  this  moment  the  fat  gentleman,  feeling 
himself  to  be  in  no  very  graceful  or  dignified 
position,  passed,  with  a  hasty  bow  to  Sir.  Raines, 
and  vanished. 

"  He  frightened  me,"  whispered  Ethel,  press- 
ing closer  to  her  preserver's  side. 

"The  low  hound!"  muttered  Mr.  Raines. 
He  did  not  consider  it  necessary  to  inform  her 
tliat  the  fat  gentleman  was  a  member  of  his 
club. 

"I  ani  so  glad!  Pray  don't  leave  me.  I 
was  going  to  the  lady,  who  spoke  to  me,  but  I 
had  so  much  rather  find  you.  Oh,  there  she 
is." 

Mr.  Raines  glanced  at  the  woman  in  black 
within  the  door,  and  the  gravity  deepened  in 
his  face.  He  drew  Ethel's  hand  within  his 
arm  with  a  tenderness  she  could  not  under- 
stand. 

"Do  you  believe  the  lady  knows  Miss 
Raines?" 

"  No,  my  dear,"  he  replied,  quietly. 

It  became  distinctly  understood,  by  two  per- 
sons at  least,  that  the  young  girl  had  found  a 
protector.  The  full  significance  of  the  fact 
was  felt  by  Ethel  alone.  She  forgot  that  she 
knew  Mr.  Raines  slightly — he  might  have  been 
her  champion  for  a  hundred  years,  to  warrant 
the  confidence  reposed  in  him.  And  in  his 
heart  he  was  touched  by  this  trust.  Ethel  re- 
coiled from  telling  him  what  the  advances  of 
the  fat  gentleman  actually  had  been — she  felt 
too  deeply  humiliated,  with  his  kisses  still  burn- 
ing on  her  lips,  and  he  asked  no  questions. 

To  the  girl's  mercurial  spirit  the  terrible 
journey,  fraught  with  perils,  became,  if  not  ac- 
tually pleasant,  cnriously  novel  and  comforta- 
ble. Mr.  Raines  was  taking  care  of  her.  Of 
course  it  was  not  like  having  Nelson,  or  even 
the  captain,  yet  it  was  very  nice. 

"  You  are  chilled  and.  tired.     You  must  have 


supper,  and  go  to  bed,"  proposed  middle  age, 
sedately. 

"And  lose  all  the  beautiful  evening?"  que- 
ried youth,  with  a  pout  of  dismay.  "  I  thought 
you  were  to  talk." 

"Supper  first,  and  the  talk  afterward,"  he 
said. 

An  hour  later  these  two,  brought  together 
unexpectedly,  were  seated  in  a  sheltered  nook; 
Ethel  well  wrapped  up  in  the  gentleman's 
shawls,  gazing  dreamily  at  the  water,  and  her 
companion  studying  her  downcast  face.  Mr. 
Raines  regarded  her  first  with  the  forbearance 
any  person  would  receive  from  him  as  his  sis- 
ter's ftivorite ;  again,  with  the  pleasure  a  very 
plain  man  feels  in  dwelling  on  female  beauty ; 
and  again,  with  profound  thankfulness  that  he 
had  found  her.  Then  came  a  natural  doubt 
as  to  what  reason  could  have  induced  Ethel  to 
leave  home.  What  had  she  done  to  necessi- 
tate flight?  Without  instruction  in  the  art  of 
pleasing  by  some  subtle  influence  on  an  im- 
pressionable temperament,  Ethel  had  gro^fti 
quiet,  watching  the  waves,  while  these  reflec- 
tions troubled  Mr.  Raines.  At  last  she  raised 
her  eyes  to  his. 

"  I  will  tell  you  why  I  am  here,  if  you  will 
please  listen." 

"Certainly." 

"You  are  very  good.  I  do  not  know  how 
yon  could  be  so  good  to  me  if  you  were  not 
Miss  Raines's  brother;"  and  moved  by  a  sud- 
den impulse  of  gratitude,  Ethel  touched  one 
of  his  small  hands  with  her  lips.  Mr.  Raines 
made  the  most  comical  grimace  of  amusement 
and  disapproval. 

"  Mademoiselle,  if  you  do  that  again  I  shall 
punish  you." 

Ethel  feared  she  had  made  a  mistake.  She 
was  a  country  girl,  and  did  not  know  how  to  be- 
have with  a  gentleman  like  Mr.  Raines.  With 
glowing  cheeks  and  drooping  lashes  she  drew 
back. 

"W^hat  is  the  matter  now,  petite?"  he  in- 
quired, still  amused,  and  with  a  caressing  in- 
tonation very  winning  to  the  ear.  Ethel  strug- 
gled with  her  tears — tears  of  mortification  and 
sudden  homesickness.  Oh,  how  she  wished 
she  was  back  in  the  little  sister's  arms,  in  that 
safe  haven,  the  mother's  chamber,  even  under 
unjust  Peggy's  wing.  Her  reply  was  a  mute, 
beseeching  glance  of  the  tender  eyes,  which 
Mr.  Raines  probed,  lingered,  and  finally  lost 
himself  in.  All,  daughter  of  Eve — country 
bred,  indeed ! 

"Now  for  the  story." 

"  Not  much  of  a  romance.     Peggy  scolded 


9G 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


me  al)Out  my  sister,  and  I  thought  the  best 
thing  I  could  do  was  to  leave  home.  I  wish  I 
was  back  again  I" 

"  School-gill  tragics,"  mentally  observed  Mr. 
Raines.  "  Nurse  gave  my  doll  to  sister,  and  I 
will  hide  to  frighten  her.  My  dear  little  girl, 
don't  cry.  Allow  me  to  suggest  that  these 
boats  return  to-morrow.  It  is  not  as  if  you 
had  crossed  the  Kocky  Mountains." 

"Mr.  Raines,  I  was  not  going  to  your  sister, 
but  I  will  now." 

"Ah?" 

"  I  intended  to  learn  to  be  a  singer." 

"  Yes.     Where  ?"    The  first  plump  question. 

"  I  hardly  know.     In  some  school,  perhaps." 

lie  made  no  comment.  Hester  should  talk 
to  this  fledgeling.  In  his  very  fear  for  her  his 
manner  became  more  cordially  kind.  After 
that  Ethel's  spirits  rallied  by  one  of  those  mar- 
velous transitions  so  incomprehensible  to  the 
masculine  mind,  while  Mr.  Haines  was  charm- 
ingly entertaining.  It  is  not  your  very  young 
m%n  who  is  a  good  conversationalist ;  his  talk 
may  be  original,  his  ideas  fresh,  but  both  lack 
the  ri])er  reflective  power  of  the  educated,  trav- 
eled, mature  man.  Ethel  found  herself  com- 
paring Mr.  Raines's  easy  flow  of  words  on  any 
topic  with  Nelson's  monosyllables.  A  girl, 
brimming  over  with  life  and  interest,  ready  to 
be  amused,  is  a  stimulus  to  exertion  which  few 
men  can  resist.  Certainly  the  hours  were  pass- 
ing much  more  swiftly  to  Mr.  Raines  than  he 
had  anticipated.  He  no  longer  insisted  on 
youth's  retiring.  Indeed,  it  was  his  own  prop- 
osition that  they  should  go  into  the  cabin,  where 
the  great  chandelier  globes  glittered  on  Ethel's 


crown  of  yellow  hair.  The  procession  of  rest- 
less men,  perpetually  pacing  through  the  sa- 
loon, turned  for  a  glimpse  of  her  face,  until  Mr, 
Itaincs  frowned  and  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Am  I  to  go  to  bed  ?" 

It  then  became  apparent  that  Mr.  Raines  no 
longer  considered  it  desirable  for  Miss  Ilearn 
to  be  subjected  to  the  scrutiny  of  the  staring 
crowd.  Accordingly  she  went,  with  a  part- 
ing smile  full  of  sweetness  for  her  protector. 
Ethel's  smile  was  gentle  and  winning  ;  no  spas- 
modic expansion  of  the  features,  revealing  the 
teeth,  but  a  gradual  curve  of  the  lips,  spread- 
ing onward  into  lovely  dimples  of  the  cheek. 
Mr.  liiiines  departed  for  his  book.  Returning 
half  an  hour  later,  he  found  the  woman  in 
black  tapping  on  Ethel's  door.  He  strode  to 
her  side. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  demanded, 
sternly. 

She  quailed  ;  but  covert  insolence  shot  an 
arrow  :  "  I  did  not  know  she  belonged  to  you." 

When  Ethel  opened  the  door  Mr.  Raines 
stood  alone. 

"Are  you  sure  that  you  are  comfortable,  my 
child  ?  Do  not  unbolt  your  door  again  unless 
I  request  it.  There  are  thieves  on  board ;  a 
lady  can  not  be  too  careful." 

Ethel  promised,  and  laughed  to  herself  af- 
terward. "I  suppose  middle-aged  men  get 
like  that — fussy." 

INIr.  Raines  folded  his  cloak  about  him,  and 
took  possession  of  a  sofa  opposite  Ethel's  door. 

"A  true  knight  of  forty-five  guarding  his 
mistress's  bower.  A  new  role  for  you,  John 
Raines,"  he  reflected,  grimly. 


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i 

CHAPTER  XXX. 


UNDER    MOB    KULE. 


WHEN  Mr.  Raines  opened  his  eyes  a  girl, 
frcsli  and  pure  as  the  dawn,  sat  patient- 
ly watching  him. 

He  had  slept  late,  overcome  by  his  vigil, 
^lany  of  the  passengers  had  departed,  yet  the 
girl  did  not  arouse  him.  Her  rest  had  been 
sound,  and  her  heart  was  overflowing  with 
gratitude  to  Mr.  Haines  for  this  instance  of 
watchful  care.  Asleep  outside  her  door!  Had 
it  been  Nelson,  she  would  have  been  amused,  a 
trifle  condescending.     But  Mr.  Raines  ! 

"  Oh,  how  kind  of  you !  What  a  miserable 
night  you  must  have  had,  and  all  for  my  sake." 

"  Pooh  !  it  is  nothing.  I  would  have  done 
the  same  for  any  one,"  he  said,  crossly. 

Mr.  Raines's  waking  sensation  was  irritable. 
The  pleasant  sentiment,  the  merry  jests  of 
evening  vanished  in  the  clear,  practical  morn- 
ing. With  a  nervous  horror  of  making  him- 
self ridiculous,  he  felt  convinced  that  he  was 
playing  the  fool.  He  had  not  intended  to  be 
discovered  in  the  role  of  guardian,  only  the 
stupor  of  sleep  had  overcome  him..  How  was 
the  girl  to  understand  his  anxiety?  Good 
heavens !  He  could  not  have  acted  with  great- 
er gallantry  had  he  been  in  love  with  Ethel 
Ilearn,  while  in  reality  nothing  could  be  more 
absurd  than  such  a  supposition.  A  reserve 
and  constrained  silence  ensued.  Ethel's  warm 
thankfulness  flowed  back  into  her  own  heart, 
and  chilled  it.  She  would  call  on  Miss  Raines, 
and  return  home  by  the  afternoon  boat.  After 
all,  her  own  people  were  much  kinder,  even 
when  they  scolded,  than  strangers. 

Mr.  Raines  busied  himself  with  preparations 
to  land.  Ethel  silently  assented  to  all  plans; 
there  was  no  conversation  between  them.  A 
carriage,  with  negro  coachman  in  livery,  await- 
ed Jlr.  Raines's  arrival.  The  latter  placed 
Ethel  in  the  carriage,  and  the  girl,  whose 
tastes  were  lu.\urious,  became  too  much  ab- 
7 


sorbed  in  admiring  the  satin  hangings  to  ob- 
serve that  the  master  stood  conversing  earnest- 
ly with  the  servant.  Sambo's  ebony  face  had 
the  peculiar  gray  tinge  which  fear  lends  to  the 
African  pliysiognomy.  At  length  Mr.  Raines 
sprang  into  the  carriage.  Ethel  immediately  re- 
sumed an  indifferent  expression,  as  if  she  had 
not  the  previous  moment  been  patting  the  crim- 
son cushion  with  an  appreciative  touch. 

"Friends?"  he  inquired,  amiably,  extending 
his  hand. 

Ethel  willfully  ignored  the  outstretched  palm, 
and  sat  with  haughtily  drooping  eyelids.  The 
next  moment  she  repented  of  her  petulance. 
Mr.  Raines  unclasped  his  portmanteau,  and 
took  from  it  a  silver  inlaid  box.  Ethel  watch- 
ed him  askance. 

"  Do  you  know  how  to  shoot?" 

OflFended  dignity  was  lost  in  amazement.  He 
displayed  two  silver-mounted  pistols,  small  and 
elegant  in  shape. 

"  One  for  you,  and  one  for  me,"  he  pursued, 
with  assumed  playfulness.  "  You  pull  the  trig- 
ger— so.  The  next  time  a  fat  gentleman  in- 
sists on  talking  to  yon,  for  example,  you  can 
use  it.     There,  put  it  in  your  pocket." 

Ethel  looked  at  him  with  dilating  eyes. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  breathlessly. 

They  were  on  a  broad  thoroughfare,  which 
presented  the  unusual  aspect  of  entire  deser- 
tion. Far  ahead  a  red  glow  was  discernible  in 
the  sky  from  burning  buildings.  Out  of  the 
strange  silence  grew  a  low,  sullen  murmur,  the 
most  fearful  sound  which  ever  smote  on  a  city's 
listening  ear — the  voice  of  a  mob.  The  coach- 
man checked  his  horses,  gazing  wildly  from 
side  to  side  in  search  of  escape.  The  murmur 
increased,  advanced,  broke  into  a  shout.  Then 
the  carriage  swerved  to  the  right,  tlie  negro 
lashing  his  steeds  to  mad  speed.  Flight  was 
the  one  instinct  left  to  him,  flight  from  a  brutal 


98 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


multitude  thirsting  for  his  blood.  Ethel  was 
answered.  She  understood  the  gift  of  the  pis- 
tol now. 

"Oh,  I  am  sorry  that  I  refused  to  shake 
hands.     Pray  forgive  me." 

"Child,  there  is  nothing  to  forgive,"  replied 
Mr.  Raines,  drawing  her  close  to  him.  "Listen 
to  me.  "We  are  in  danger.  Much  depends  on 
your  courage.  Tiie  city  is  delivered  up  to  ri- 
oters. One  can  never  judge  what  insanity  will 
do.  Can  I  trust  you  to  use  the  pistol,  if  neces- 
sary ?" 

Ethel  blanched  witli  liorror  at  tlie  suggestion. 
How  unreal  it  all  was !  For  a  moment  she 
quailed  and  trembled. 

"Yes,"  she  finally  said,  lifting  her  eyes  to 
his  to  gain  courage. 

Then  Mr.  Haines  touched  her  cheek  with 
his  lips,  prompted  by  her  helpless  dependence 
on  him,  her  beauty  and  docility ;  and  if  Ethel 
was  conscious  of  the  caress,  she  was  grateful 
for  it,  as  effacing  the  stain  of  the  fat  gentle- 
man's bold  salute. 

The  bewildered  coachman  had  made  a  fatal 
mistake.  In  avoiding  Scylla  tlic  carriage  plun- 
ged into  a  Charybdis  of  seething  humanity. 
The  mob,  in  its  apparently  aimless  course,  had 
stretched  vast  arms  across  the  town,  and  that 
portion  which  the  coachman  had  mistaken  for 
the  main  body  proved  to  be  only  a  branch. 
The  wide-spreading  limbs  of  this  monstrous 
growth  of  evil  passion  carried  poison ;  but,  ah ! 
the  cruel  venom  of  the  central  body,  the  blind, 
insensate  fury  of  revenge  !  A  gentleman's  car- 
riage, driven  by  a  negro,  was  greeted  with  yells 
and  execrations.  ^Greedy  eyes  peered  into  the 
windows  at  Ethel  sitting  rigid  and  silent,  rude 
bands  plucked  at  the  fastenings  of  the  doors. 

"  To  resist  would  be  to  have  the  whole  pack 
of  wolves  on  us.  Wait !"  muttered  Mr.  Raines, 
scornfully  calm.  The  fury  of  the  onset  was 
directed  against  the  harmless  servant.  The 
mob  was  ripe  for  plunder  and  destruction 
wherever  impulse  might  lead,  but  its  watch- 
word was,  "  Down  with  the  negro  !"  The  slave 
was  being  freed  in  the  South  to  rob  the  mob 
of  lawful  work  in  tlie  North.  Away  with  law, 
order,  and  government !  Rule  by  violence  and 
bloodshed !  TIius  clamored  the  Old  AVorld 
importation  of  rioters.  Sambo  stood  on  the 
box,  praying  piteously  to  be  saved. 

"He  has  done  you  no  injury.  I  will  give 
you  any  thing  to  spare  my  servant,"  cried  Mr. 
Raines. 

"  We  may  take  what  you've  got  without, 
guv'ncr,"  said  a  wag  in  the  crowd.  This  wit- 
ticism was  greeted  with  an  appreciative  shout. 


Mr.  Raines  groaned  aloud  at  his  own  helpless- 
ness. Ethel  hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  When 
she  looked  up  again  the  negro  had  disappeared 
into  that  angry  sea,  surging  and  flooding  the 
street.  Their  turn  next.  A  burly  form  was 
thrust  into  the  carriage  close  to  Ethel's  shrink- 
ing form. 

"Out  wid  yer  watclies  and  money! "com- 
manded a  rough  voice.  Tlie  girl  turned  wild- 
ly to  Mr.  Raines  for  protection.  A  gun  in  the 
hands  of  a  reckless  boy  sent  a  bullet  whis- 
tling through  tlic  window.  The  sudden  report 
tlioroughly  aroused  the  trembling  horses;  they 
bounded  forward,  breaking  loose  from  the  men 
who  held  them,  and  cleared  a  way  through  the 
crowd.  The  carriage  jolted  over  some  obsta- 
cle ;  Ethel's  nerves  told  her  that  the  soft,  yield- 
ing thing  was  a  human  body.  They  seemed 
to  be  impelled  from  one  peril  to  another. 
They  were  the  shuttlecocks  tossed  from  one 
form  of  death  to  the  next  on  that  awful  d.'.y. 

Away  flew  the  frantic  horses  along  the  street, 
faster  and  faster,  as  no  restraint  curbed  iheir 
progress.  Ethel  neither  wept  nor  spoke.  She 
was  frozen  in  that  phase  of  mortal  terror  which 
mechanically  awaits  the  end.  Only  once  did 
she  arouse  herself.  Mr.  Raines  forbade  her 
to  jump  from  the  carriage,  and  endeavored  to 
climb  to  the  box  by  breaking  the  glass  sashes. 
The  aperture  was  too  small ;  he  drew  back 
witli  bleeding  hands. 

"Will  no  one  help  us?"  lie  exclaimed.  "Has 
the  whole  town  gone  mad?" 

"  I  don't  think  any  one  can  help  us  but  God," 
said  the  girl,  in  a  strange,  far-away  voice.  She 
tore  her  handkercliicf  into  strips,  and  bound  up 
his  wounded  hands.  Tlien  a  great  terror  swept 
over  her. 

"Are  we  going  to  die  ?"  she  inquired,  in- 
credulously. 

"  Heaven  forbid  !" 

Then  there  was  a  lurch,  a  grinding  crash 
from  the  overturned  vehicle,  a  final,  desperate 
struggle  of  flashing  hoofs  and  delicate  limbs, 
and  the  horses  sjjcd  away  free  of  shackles.  Mr. 
Raines  extricated  Ethel  from  the  ruins.  What 
next  ?  The  accident  had  carried  them  three 
miles  from  Mr.  Raines's  residence.  Wiiere  was 
safety?  Without  his  companion  Mr.  Raines 
could  have  run  many  risks,  and  he  did  not 
dare  to  leave  her  suflSciently  long  to  procure 
assistance.  They  were  in  that  portion  of  the 
city  which  borders  on  the  water,  a  sort  of  rough 
upheaval  of  lumber,  coal  heaps,  and  quarried 
stone,  with  an  occasional  factory  (silent  and 
deserted  that  day)  rising  above  the  surround- 
ing disorder. 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


99 


Mr.  Raines  went  to  the  corner  of  the  street 
to  reconnoitre,  lie  had  no  sooner  left  her 
than  Ethel  discovered  a,  party  of  workmen  ap- 
proaching from  the  opposite  direction.  She 
ran  after  Sir.  Raines,  who  without  more  ado 
led  her  into  the  adjacent  lumber-yard,  and  be- 
hind the  shelter  of  a  pile  of  boards.  The  la- 
borers, disintegrated  atoms  of  the  mob,  paused 
to  examine  the  wrecked  carriage.  Their  words 
were  distinctly  audible  to  the  hidden  listeners. 
Mr.  Raines  pressed  Ethel's  hand  re-assuriiigly. 

"Hiding  at  noonday  from  desperadoes! 
Fate  is  playing  odd  pranks  with  us,"  he 
breathed  in  her  ear. 

"  Don't  pity  me !  I  shall  break  down  if  you 
do." 

"It  was  not  that,  you  good,  brave  child.  I 
was  thinking  how  it  would  seem  when  we  get 
through  it  all  safely." 

There  was  comfort  in  this  reflection.  Safe 
at  last !  Just  as  if  JMr.  Raines  did  not  know 
what  to  say  at  the  right  time.  One  of  Ethel's 
dimples  was  coaxed  into  sight  in  a  faint  smile. 
The  workmen  tramped  on.  They  might  emerge 
from  the  board  castle,  but  Jlr.  Raines  lingered. 
Perhaps  he  dreaded  the  next  step  and  its  un- 
known perils. 

"We  must  agree  on  a  coarse  of  action — and 
— allow  me  to  be  your  hair-dresser,  for  indeed 
I  fear  to  venture  into  the  presence  of  King 
Mob  with  so  much  living  gold  visible." 

Then  Ethel  discovered  that  the  upsetting  of 
the  carriage  had  disturbed  her  coiifure.  Im- 
agine the  self-forgetfulness  induced  by  terror 
that  she  did  not  perceive  it  before.  Extremes 
meet.  The  deepest  tragedy  may  have  its  far- 
cical side.  John  Raines  found  himself  gazing 
delightedly  on  the  silky  masses  that  Ethel's 
fingers  wove  into  smooth  braids,  and  once  he 
patted  her  head  softly  with  such  approval  as 
ten  years  of  age  might  receive. 

"I  cotdd  have  seen  you  for  years  in  my  sis- 
ter's rooms  without  knowing  you,  petite,"  he 
said,  half  absently. 

"  Certainly  without  noticing  me,"  added 
Ethel,  winding  the  last  band  around  her  head, 
and  putting  on  her  hat. 

He  actually  laughed,  displaying  dazzling 
white  teeth.  "As  to  that,  what  need  have 
you  of  the  attention  of  an  old  fellow?" 

Ethel's  eyes  clouded.  "  Great  need  of  your 
care,"  she  said,  soberly,  and,  remembering  her 
mistake  of  last  night,  colored  beautifully. 

The  streets  still  presented  that  strange  de- 
sertion, in  which  there  was  also  a  fear.  The 
two  pedestrians  made  as  rapid  progress  as 
could  be  expected,  when  it  is  considered  that 


Mr.  Raines  always  guarded  a  retreat  in  event 
of  coming  unexpectedly  on  the  foe.  Occa- 
sionally they  met  frightened  citizens,  each  in- 
tent on  his  own  danger,  or  flying  to  the  rescue 
of  his  family.  The  soldiers  had  not  yet  ap- 
peared on  the  scene,  although  rumor  stated 
that  a  gun-boat  lay  ready  to  sweep  the  vicin- 
ity of  banks  should  rioters  attempt  to  despoil 
them. 

"We  are  near  my  uncle's  house,  I  think," 
said  Ethel,  wearily,  after  an  unusually  tedious 
detour  to  avoid  a  fired  building.  "Shelter  is 
every  thing." 

The  mob,  slaking  its  thirst  at  every  pool  of 
revenge,  discovered  that  it  owed  Mr.  Richard 
Ilearn  a  grudge.  He  was  the  rich  man,  the 
oppressor  of  the  poor — at  least  one  discontent- 
ed artisan  was  of  that  opinion,  and  the  mob  was 
remarkably  unanimous  in  sentiment.  Just  as 
our  wanderers  reached  the  edge  of  a  park,  the 
human  storm  burst  opposite  in  full  fury,  and 
the  point  of  attack  was  undoubtedly  Mr.  Ilearn's 
elegant  residence.  The  crowd  streamed  in 
from  every  by-way — ragged  boys,  armed  with 
sharp-pointed  staves,  excited,  brazen  women, 
swarmed,  as  if  summoned  by  the  tap  of  an  evil 
genius's  wand. 

Hasten  within  the  sanctuary  of  the  church, 
standing  solemn  and  pure  amidst  the  turmoil, 
before  some  wandering  glance  falls  on  Ethel, 
and  the  tidings  run  from  lip  to  lip  that  she  is  a 
lady! 

Mr.  Raines  could  not  pause  to  reflect  on 
what  might  ensue  if  the  church  door  was  lock- 
ed. No,  it  yielded  to  his  appeal;  they  entered 
the  vestibule,  and  he  turned  the  ponderous  key 
behind  them,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"If  the  fools  hold  any  thing  sacred,  we  arc 
safe  here." 

"But  my  uncle,"  suggested  Ethel. 

"They  are  not  likely  to  commit  murder.'^' 

The  interior  of  the  church  was  lofty  and 
dark ;  the  transition  to  quiet  calm  marvelous. 
They  threaded  the  aisles,  followed  by  hoarse 
shouts  of  the  crowd,  horrible  even  at  that  dis- 
tance. If  any  thing  could  have  surprised  on 
that  day,  so  replete  with  strange  incidents,  it 
must  have  been  to  find  before  the  altar  a  child's 
coffin,  the  tiny  inmate,  white  and  still,  decked 
with  flowers  that  breatiied  a  mild  fragrance 
around,  as  if  the  child-life  yielded  a  fixint  sweet- 
ness insufficient  to  permeate  a  great  world. 

"Come  away,"  said  Mr.  Raines,  hastily, 
without  looking  at  the  altar,  when  he  divined 
what  was  there.  But  Ethel  paused.  The  lit- 
tle coffin  touched  her  strangely. 

"Perhaps  we  were  sent  to  guard  it.     Every 


100 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW, 


one  lias  fled.  The  poor  baby  left  alone,  just 
as  I  should  have  been  without  you." 

Mr.  Itaines  hesitated,  then  returned  to  her 
side,  and  looked  at  the  child  without  repug- 
nance. 

The  projierty  of  Mr.  Hichard  Ilearn  was  be- 
ing rougiily  handled  by  his  enemies  ;  the  fam- 
ily were  forced  to  escape  through  the  stable  to 
ft  place  of  safety. 

We  did  not  realize  it  at  the  time  ;  we  can 
not  appreciate  it,  now  that  it  is  past.  The 
mob  held  sway,  like  a  drunken  dc?pot,  fur  three 
days. 

"With  regard  to  Kicluird  Ilearn,  one  spark  of 
angry  vengeance  in  the  discontented  artisan 
kindled  many  sparks  of  wanton  mischief,  until 
the  mass  was  ignited  into  a  full  blaze.  It  bat- 
tered his  foundation,  forced  an  entrance  ;  there 
was  an  ominous  shivering  of  mirrors,  a  crash 
of  falling  pictures  and  furniture.  Delicate 
articles  of  bijouterie  in  I\Irs.  Ilearn's  boudoir 
were  tossed  out  at  window  to  friends  in  the 
crowd,  and  gilt-bound  books  rained  down  on 
the  curbstone.  Then  the  brazen  women  re- 
appeared, each  carrying  an  apron-ful  of  booty, 
the  glittering  spoils  of  a  lady's  wardrobe. 

In  the  church  the  two  living  human  beings 
were  scarcely  less  silent  than  the  dead  child. 
Ethel  leaned  her  head  against  a  stone  pillow, 
while  Mr.  Raines,  in  sheer  weariness,  lounged 


among  the  cushions  of  an  adjoining  pew.  lie 
closed  his  eyes ;  he  must  have  slept ;  and  when 
he  looked  at  his  companion  again  she  was  mar- 
ble pale,  with  tears  slowly  coursing  down  her 
cheeks. 

"Are  you  ill,  or  hurt,  Ethel?"  he  inquired. 

"No;  I  am  very  hungry." 

They  had  been  all  day  without  food,  in  the 
midst  of  jilenty.      He  rose  quietly. 

"  I  can  get  you  bread,  at  least." 

"No,  no!  Uon't  leave  me  alone!  Indeed 
I  do  not  mind."  John  Kaines  had  never  had 
a  woman  wholly  dependent  on  him  ;  the  sensa- 
tion was  novel,  but  it  brought  no  exhilaration. 

Suddenly  the  girl  became  transfigured  before 
him  ;  a  red  glow  crept  up  her  gown  to  her  face 
and  hair,  changing  the  latter  to  molten  gold, 
thence  bathing  the  stone  pillar  in  rosy  flames. 
She  might  have  been  one  of  the  early  martyrs, 
bound  to  this  stake,  consumed  by  this  fiery 
splendor,  gleaming  like  a  star  out  of  a  darken- 
ed world.  In  reality,  Ethel  Hearn  was  vi\  idly 
illuminated  by  the  light  of  her  uncle's  burning 
home.  No  one  knew  how  it  happened,  unless 
it  was  the  urchin  with  matches  who  could 
trace  the  tiny  blue  flash  which  ran  and  hid 
cunningly,  then  leaped  into  free  life  above  of 
devouring  flame.  Miss  Raines  opened  her  own 
door  that  evening  to  admit  her  brother  and 
Ethel  Ilearn.     The  servants  had  run  awav. 


,vx^Q;5^ 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


JOHN   RAIXES. 


WHY  not  many  her  yourself?" 
"  Eh  ?     "What  put  such  a  thought  in 
your  head  ?" 

Miss  Raines  sat  bolt  upright,  with  Iicr  hands 
crossed  on  her  knee,  as  she  asked  this  abrupt 
question.  She  had  come  to  her  brother's  li- 
brary after  Ethel  Hearn  was  asleep. 

The  room  was  wholly  in  shadow,  with  a 
gleam  of  polished  mirror,  the  cases  of  books 
dimly  revealed  by  the  radiance  of  the  shaded 
lamp  on  the  table.  John  Raines  had  his  fan- 
cies. One  was  for  rare,  faded  old  volumes, 
velium-bound;  another  for  the  Apollo  who 
stood  disclosed  in  graceful  outline  of  marble  on 
an  ebony  standard  ;  and  yet  another  whim  was 
a  clock  like  that  of  Linnaeus,  in  the  window, 
divided  by  lace  curtains  from  the  room.  He 
could  only  imitate  others,  he  would  affirm,  and 
persisted,  so  far  as  it  was  practicable,  in  count- 
ing the  passing  hours  by  means  of  the  floral 
group  ranged  in  a  circle.  The  lotus  spread 
pure,  snowy  leaves  to  the  early  sunbeams,  and 
the  daisy  opened  a  crimson  star  to  greet  the 
day ;  but  John  Raines  liked  best  to  watch  the 
tender  primrose  unfurl  velvet  petals  in  the  ef- 
fulgence of  sunset,  and  the  cactus  bloom  with 
starry  splendor  at  midnight. 

This  brother  and  sister  were  understood  to 
be  very  dear  to  each  other.  One  cloud  had 
rested  on  their  attachment,  and  over  that  she 
still  brooded  at  times. 

Mr.  Raines  flushed  an  uncomfortable  red,  and 
looked  inexpressibly  horrified  at  I\Iiss  Raines's 
proposition.  He  glanced  around  involuntarily, 
as  if  about  to  escape  from  the  very  idea.  Good 
gracious !  Had  the  girl  actually  mistaken  his 
pleasantries  and  formed  an  attachment  for  him  ? 
Here  the  good  sense  of  John  Raines  re-assert- 
ed itself,  a  glance  at  the  mirror  over  the  chim- 
ney-piece  rendered  such   a  construction  im- 


probable. Miss  Raines  did  not,  apparently,  ob- 
serve his  discomfiture.  "He  receives  it  pre- 
cisely as  I  expected.  There  is  no  great  liarm 
done  yet,"  reflected  this  wise  lady. 

"The  idea!"  he  repeated,  with  increased  ve- 
hemence.     "I  shall  never  marry,  of  course." 

"Why?"  inquired  Miss  Raines,  turning  her 
quiet  glance  full  on  him. 

This  question  was  unpleasant ;  he  had  a  rea- 
son, yet  it  was  altogether  unnecessary  to  ex- 
plain. 

"  How  can  you  be  so  disagreeable,  Hester  ?" 

The  corners  of  Miss  Raines's  mouth  shov.'ed 
suppressed  amusement. 

"Does  the  girl  know  ?     Has  she — " 

"Has  she  fallen  in  love?"  The  sentence 
sounded  so  absurd  as  she  deliberately  finished 
it.  "Not  that  I  am  aware  of.  She  has  never 
confided  any  such  precious  secret  to  me." 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Mr.  Raines,  conclu- 
sively, relieved,  and  a  trifle  piqued. 

"  Dog  in  the  manger,"  thought  the  sister 
again.  "I  am  interested  in  this  girl,"  she 
continued,  aloud.  "I  intend  to  do  something 
for  her.  She  is  what  I  should  have  been  if 
the  accident  had  not  befallen  me.  I  recognize 
the  same  traits  daily  of  my  younger  self,  and  to 
watch  their  development  is  a  perpetual  source 
of  wonder.  So  like  !  Ah,  me  !  only  without 
the  arrogance  my  birth  and  wealtli  gave  me, 
therefore  much  better.  I  should  like  to  see 
you  married.  ^Yhat  a  dift'erent  home  this 
would  be  with  a  beautiful  wife  and  children, 
instead  of  presided  over  by  me,  a  stiff  old  maid. 
Do  not  interrupt  me  ;  I  know.  Perhaps  I  am 
selfish ;  but  my  otlier  self,  sans  crippled  limbs 
and  soured  temper,  mu^  marry  well ;  and  I 
should  choose  you  out  of  all  the  world." 

Miss  Raines's  clear  voice  trembled  with  un- 
wonted emotion.     She  was  honest  in  Avhat  she 


lOii 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


viiJ,  yet  there  w:.o  a  rcsorvfttion'wlncn  was  not 
honest. 

"My  clear  Hester,  I  like  the  girl  for  your 
s;ike.  We  will  sec  what  cun  be  done  for  her. 
I  can  not  marry  her  to  oblige  you,  can  I  ?" 

He  patted  her  sliouldcr  rc-nssuringly.  Jliss 
liairyis's  features  contracted  n  moment;  tlien 
she  said,  lightly,  "I  supjjose  every  thing  is  cliau- 
ging.  Beauty  lil^e  that  to  go  begging !  Men 
must  be  made  of  ice  instead  of  the  old  fire  and 
passion.  Ah,  my  little  Ethel,  could  you  be 
established  as  the  fasliion,  how  quickly  would 
one  sheep  follow  another  in  pursuit  of  you ! 
Well,  my  lord,  I  have  given  you  the  first  bid 
for  my  fair  slave,  now  I  will  summon  others." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that  threat?"  He 
was  still  smiling. 

"I  intend  to  introduce  the  most  eligible 
men  of  my  acquaintance  to  my  pet  forthwitli. 
Good-night !" 

Pretty  Etiiel  asleep  up  stairs  knew  notliing  of 
these  plottings  concerning  her  welfare.  !Miss 
Raines  stood  beside  the  bed  looking  earnestly 
at  the  girl. 

"There  may  be  time  yet  before  Hor^ense 
comes." 

Jlr.  Raines,  left  alone,  wandered  restlessly 
about  the  library.  Of  all  Hester's  absurd 
whims,  this  was  the  most  ridiculous.  She  ivas 
whimsical.  All  women  were.  He  was  to 
marry  this  prote'ge'e  to  accommodate  his  sister. 
Surely  that  would  be  a  mariage  de  conveimnce 
of  a  unique  sort.  He  would  do  any  thing 
else  for  Ethel.  She  was  a  dear  little  girl.  So 
pretty  and  piquant,  altogether  a  bright  ele- 
ment in  the  household.  If  Hester  wished  to 
turn  the  establishment  inside  out  for  company, 
to  amuse  Ethel,  she  must  have  her  own  waj'. 
Yet  the  suggestion  annoyed  her  unaccounta- 
bly. They  were  living  very  quietly  and  com- 
fortably as  matters  stood,  with  Ethel  to  sing 
in  the  twilight,  and  Ethel —  Tlicre  !  best  not 
to  make  any  change  until  the  autumn.  He 
v.ould  advise  Hester.  Of  course  the  latter 
thought  of  his  happiness ;  he  firmly  believed 
that. 

Tlien  out  of  the  very  quiet  of  night  was  born 
the  shadow  of  a  desire  which  stole  over  him  in 
soft  reverie.  The  smoke  of  his  cigar  wreathed 
in  fantastic  shapes  before  his  half-closed  eyes, 
and  assumed  the  fleeting  form  of  filmy  dra- 
peries, even  of  a  well-known  face,  for  imagina- 
tion was  busy  within  him.  While  the  flower 
clock  grew  in  tlie  window,  a  soul  flower  ex- 
panded an  alabaster  chalice  to  catch  the  dew 
of  life,  with  which  to  enrich  and  beautify  a 
sterile  nature.     The  dawn  found  him  still  in 


the  chair  where  his  sister  left  him.  Certainly 
this  was  a  very  extraordinary  predicament  for 
a  sedate,  middle-aged  gentleman,  even  if  habit- 
ually late  in  retiring. 

At  the  breakfast-table  his  manner  was  cold 
and  slightly  embarrassed.  Miss  Raines  watch- 
ed him  with  covert  amusement  behind  the  cof- 
fee-urn. Ethel  was  frank,  and  oblivious  of 
change.  She  claimed  his  attention  witii  play- 
ful exactions,  unmindful  of  stitf  rejoinders,  for 
Ethel  was  sure  of  indulgence  from  her  haugh- 
ty, sarcastic  hostess. 

Occasionally  he  stole  glances  of  critical  dis- 
approval at  the  girl,  seeing  her  in  a  new  light, 
which  melted  as  they  rested  on  her  fair,  happy 
face.     Ethel  was  verj'  happy  indeed. 

"I  must  go  away,"  he  announced,  after 
breakfast,  pausing  by  the  window,  irresolutely. 

"Oh,  must  you?"  inquired  Ethel,  with  a 
shade  of  disappointment  in  her  tone.  The 
s^oft  flattery  of  the  regret  expressed  was  very 
winning,  but  it  only  served  to  increase  Mr. 
Raines's  alarm. 

Ethel  came  in  from  the  conservatory  as  slie 
spoke,  her  hands  full  of  rosy  blossoms.  Siie 
had  a  rare  appreciation  of  flowers,  not  your 
humble,  out-of-door  wild  growth,  but  gorgeous 
exotics,  and  she  was  in  league  with  the  gar- 
dener. She  was  really  attached  to  the  master 
of  the  house  :  she  recognized  in  him  a  gentle- 
man, contrasted  with  the  Shellport  trades-peo- 
ple, contrasted  with  Richard  Hcarn's  surface 
polish  of  manner. 

"  I  am  sorry.  See  !  If  you  will  stay,  I  may 
give  my  loveliest  flowers,"  she  said,  Mafting  a 
delicate  spray  toward  him.  Ethel  knew  that 
her  pose  was  graceful,  felt  the  exultant  thrill 
of  her  own  beauty  and  health,  quite  as  much 
as  she  thought  of  Mr.  Raines  at  that  moment. 

Sunshine,  warmth,  perfume,  and  youth  !  He 
looked  at  her  with  suddenly  dazzled  eyes,  as 
he  had  done  on  the  steamboat,  then  turned 
away  hastily. 

"  I  must  go  away  I" 

Jliss  Raines  had  watched  them  from  her 
arm-cliair.  Had  she  feared  the  result,  rest 
assured  that  Ethel  Hcarn  would  never  have 
come  about  her  brother  in  that  fashion. 

"Then  we  must  be  twice  as  agreeable," 
said  Ethel,  going  over  to  her  friend. 

Mr.  Raines  glanced  back  at  the  door.  Eth- 
el was  adorning  Miss  Raines's  hair  with  her 
blossoms,  drooping  slender  tendrils  each  side 
of  the  pale  face.  The  brother  departed.  The 
sister  made  no  comment.  Two  days  later, 
Ethel  looked  up  from  the  book  she  was  read- 
ing aloud,  at  the  sound  of  carriage-wheels. 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


103 


Mr.  Raines  had  returned.  His  sister  sudden-  I  Jlr.  Raines  stood  at  the  door  without  reply- 
ly  snatched  her  companion  to  her  breast  and  j  ing.  The  liall  was  shaded  and  cool,  after  tho 
kissed  her,  then  said,  "Will  you  go  down  and    sultry  street;  while  tho  light  from  a  window 


wcli'orae  him  in  my  place  ?" 

Ethel  flitted  down  the  stairway,  pausing  on 
the  lower  step  to  exclaim,  "  Wc  are  so  glad  to 
have  you  back  again  !" 


above  streamed  down  on  the  girl  as  she  hov- 
ered there,  just  above  him,  in  delicate  summer 
raiment.  Was  she  sent  down  in  that  ray  of 
brightness  to  his  sober  life  ? 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


GREAT  NEWS. 


ETHEL  was  gone.  The  blinds  of  the  sick- 
chamber  were  always  closed  now,  exclud- 
ing the  sweet  summer  days.  The  little  sister, 
forgetful  of  her  own  sorrow,  was  a  cheerful 
presence  again.  She  was  finding  peace  in 
these  days.  In  her  own  humility  she  did  not 
blame  Nelson,  was  even  learning  to  hope  that 
all  might  yet  be  well  between  him  and  Ethel. 
They  were  so  well  suited,  and  would  make  a 
noble  pair.  She  had  heard  from  Nelson  before 
he  went  to  the  war,  and  often  her  thoughts, 
her  prayers,  followed  him  to  the  battle-field. 

Nicholas,  on  his  return  from  serving  Jared 
Hearn,  had  met  with  a  disappointment  so  unex- 
pected and  severe,  that  even  his  sanguine  dis- 
position yielded  to  utter  despondency.  Await- 
ing him  was  an  ominous  missive,  stating  that 
his  safety-valve  was  already  anticipated.  Poor 
Nicholas  !  He  fiincied  that  his  one  little  idea 
was  owned  by  himself  alone,  out  of  the  whole 
universe,  instead  of  realizing  that  many  minds 
ponder  on  the  needs  of  the  age.  The  plans 
that  hinged  on  the  valve  !  The  mother  was  to 
travel  in  the  warm  countries,  Olive  own  a  pi- 
ano, Ethel  have  unlimited  gowns,  and  Peggy 
her  heart's  desire,  whatever  that  might  be. 
Now,  instead,  Nicholas  might  bury  the  tiny 
hope  in  the  grave  of  silence.  The  mother 
comforted  him,  and  watched  for  the  reaction. 
It  came  in  a  glow  of  youthful  patriotism.  Sol- 
diers were  needed,  and  Nicholas,  pushing  his 
papers  into  a  corner,  hastened  to  the  front. 

Peggy  was  morose.  The  Raines  family  were 
not  at  their  place  this  year.  Ethel  had  not  re- 
turned. Her  flight  had  been  explained  in  a 
charming  note  from  Miss  Raines,  written  with 
all  possible  dispatch  after  Ethel's  arrival  at 
her  door.  Without  positive  prevarication,  she 
shielded  the  girl  from  blame.  She  begged 
Olive  to  forgive  her  for  keeping  her  sister, 


while  assuring  her  that  Ethel  should  be  her 
first  care. 

"  Had  you  not  better  add  a  few  lines  ?"  Miss 
Raines  suggested,  as  she  folded  the  note. 

"  Oh,  I  can  not  I"  exclaimed  Ethel,  in  agony. 

She  had  confessed  much  to  her  friend.  The 
elder  lady  believed  that  she  read  the  other's 
soul  like  an  open  page ;  yet  there  were  folded 
leaves,  as  there  are  in  all  natures.  Ethel  had 
been  the  cause  of  a  difference  between  her  sis- 
ter and  lover.  Absence  might  heal  the  breach. 
That  Ethel  herself  loved  this  hero.  Miss  Raines 
did  not  divine. 

The  little  sister's  reply  was  dignified  and 
simple.  She  thanked  Miss  Raines  for  her 
kindness,  and  did  not  reproach  her  sister. 
Inclosed  was  a  smaller  letter  to  Ethel,  full  of 
affectionate  solicitude,  begging  her  to  write  to 
the  mother,  who  missed  her  sadly,  and  speak- 
ing hopefully  of  a  speedy  return.  And  Ethel 
wept  bitterly  as  she  thought  of  the  lonely  little 
home,  wrestling  with  her  own  heart.  "  I  must 
not  return  until  I  have  accomplished  some- 
thing," she  sobbed,  and  allowed  the  opportuni- 
ty to  pass. 

One  of  the  Raines's  servants  brought  a  letter 
to  Olive.  She  turned  faint  and  giddy  as  her 
trembling  fingers  closed  over  it. 

"Has  any  thing  happened?" she  faltered. 

"  Nothing  bad,  miss,"  said  the  groom,  touch- 
ing his  hat  with  greater  respect  than  ever  be- 
fore. 

Olive  sank  into  the  first  seat,  and  opened  the 
envelope. 

"Peggy!  Peggy!     Come  here." 

The  old  woman  obeyed,  and  at  the  same 
moment  a  light,  unsteady  footstep,  crossing  the 
floor  above,  descended  the  stairs.  Mrs.  Hearn 
stood  on  the  threshold,  a  very  wraith  of  a 
woman  in  flowing  garments. 


104 


JOSEril  THE  JEW. 


'•Wli:it  has  happened?  Is  it  about  your 
father,  at  hist." 

"  Oh,  mother  dear,  how  stupid  I  am  to 
frighten  you,"  said  Olive,  with  u  tremulous 
smile,  winding  her  arms  about  the  tottering 
form.  "  We  have  good  news.  Can  you  bear 
to  hear?     Ethel  is  married." 

Mrs.  Ilcarn's  lips  quivered  without  sound, 
she  looked  at  Olive  once — such  a  look  ! 

"  We  could  not  keep  it  from  you,"  said  Olive, 
tearfully. 

Peggy  led  her  mistress  back  to  her  room,  pas- 
sive. There  was  a  gray  shade  on  the  nurse's 
face  also. 

"  It's  to  him,  I  'sposc,"  she  wliispcred,  later. 

"Yes.     Mr.  Raines." 

"I  told  ye  so,  long  ago.  It  was  all  in  the 
cards. " 

Night  settled  down  on  the  household,  each 
striving  to  understand  the  new  state  of  afi'airs. 
IIow  wonderful  to  think  of  Ethel  married.  Of 
course  they  had  always  looked  forward  to  such 
an  event,  yet  the  fulfillment  was  unexpected. 
It  was  not  at  all  remarkable  that  Mr.  Raines 
should  have  fallen  in  love  with  Ethel,  but  the 
marriage  was  painful  to  contemplate,  as  trans- 
piring entirely  without  their  cognizance.  Was 
it  an  elopement?  Did  Mr.  Raines  wish  to 
wean  Ethel  entirely  from  them  ?  Oh,  why  had 
slie  thrust  them  out  of  her  confidence  at  such 
a  crisis?  Such  were  the  little  sister's  first  re- 
flections. As  for  Mrs.  Ilearn,  she  lay  on  her 
bed  in  silence,  with  her  hands  clasped  over  her 
eyes. 

"Go  to  your  supper,  my  dear,"  slie  said, 
pushing  Olive  gently  away,  as  she  hovered  an.x- 
iously  near. 

"What  will  you  have  ?" 

"Nothing." 

"You  must.  A  drop  of  chicken  broth.  A 
cup  of  tea  ?" 

"Tea,  if  you  choose." 

Left  alone,  Mrs.  Ream  murmured, 

"  Married,  without  me  —  her  own  mother. 
Ah,  I  hope  the  child  may  never  need  me 
again.     I  have  done  the  best  I  could  for  her." 

The  little  sister  went  down  with  an  aching 
heart  to  the  lonely  supper-room.  She  spread 
the  letter  open,  instead  of  eating.  "  Read  it 
again,"  said  Peggy,  coming  in  with  the  tea-pot, 
and  preparing  to  listen,  with  folded  arms. 

"My  dkar,  incAu  Moxuiiii  and  Sister, — 
When  this  letter  reaches  you  I  shall  be  mar- 
ried to  a  good,  kind  gentleman,  who  will  de- 
vote his  life  to  me.  We  never  thought  that 
there  would  be  a  rich  Mrs.  Raines  in  our  poor 


little  family,  did  we?  Miss  Raines  is  satisfied, 
and  likes  me  for  a  sister.  I  hope  you  will  be 
pleased,  too,  for  indeed  I  could  not  have  made 
a  better  match.  I  am  very  fortunate  for  a  girl 
in  my  position.  Uncle  Hearn  may  know  me 
now,  as  I  shall  rank  above  him  in  society.  Oh, 
how  splendid  it  will  be,  my  darlings,  to  be  a 
lady.  I  am  coming  to  you  to-morrow.  Do 
not  allow  dear  Peggy  to  fret  about  prepara- 
tions ;  we  stay  at  the  house. 

"Ever  your  aflcctionate  Ethel." 

"  She  is  better  off,"  said  I'cggy,  with  an  in- 
voluntary sigh. 

"I  never  could  understand  her  leaving  us," 
said  Olive. 

"  P'raps  I  know.  I  scolded  her,  and  she  de- 
served it.  She  took  the  life  out  o'  your  heart, 
child,  and  I  told  her  so." 

"  You  did  ?"  said  Olive,  regretfully.  "  Then 
you  were  very  unjust.  Just  as  if  she  could 
help  it — or — " 

Here  the  brave  little  sister  laid  her  head 
down  on  the  table  and  began  to  cry.  "You 
sent  her  out  into  the  world,  poor  child  !  She 
might  not  have  found  friends  ;  we  read  of  such 
things." 

Peggy  was  dumb.  Remorse  for  her  own 
harsh  words  had  weighed  on  her  ever  since 
Ethel's  flight.  The  old  woman  went  away  in 
silence  :  it  was  not  best  to  condole  with  Olive, 
who  would  be  ashamed  of  her  tears  present- 
ly. Peggy  had  not  dwelt  with  the  little  sis- 
ter these  one-and-twenty  years  without  under- 
standing her  peculiarities.  In  the  kitchen 
Peggy  glanced  around  for  help.  The  clouds 
were  very  dark.  "  Shouldn't  wonder  if  it  kill- 
ed her  mother,"  she  said,  from  a  habit  of  speak- 
ing her  thoughts  aloud. 

First  she  refreshed  herself  with  a  pinch  of 
snuff,  then,  slighting  the  clairvoyance  gift  as 
a  broken  reed,  she  lifted  from  a  shelf  a  large 
Bible,  with  worn  cover.  Peggy's  selection,  af- 
ter adjusting  the  silver-bowed  spectacles,  was 
the  Lamentations  of  Jeremiah.  Iler  theologic- 
al views  were  peculiar.  In  fact,  no  one  exact- 
ly knew  what  she  believed,  as  she  maintained 
unusual  reserve  on  the  subject.  With  her, 
reading  the  Scriptures  was  not  so  much  a  habit 
as  a  resort  in  emergencies,  when  her  courage 
was  spent,  and  then  she  invariably  turned  to  the 
grand,  stern  prophets  of  the  Old  Testament. 

In  this  way  was  the  news  of  Ethel  Hearn's 
marriage  received  by  her  own  family. 

Olive  speedily  dried  her  tears,  recovered  her 
composure,  and  went  into  the  kitchen  to  make 
overtures  of  peace  with  Peggy — poor  old  Peg- 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


lo; 


gy,  who  always  did  her  best  for  them.  This  ac- 
complished, she  returned  to  the  mother's  room, 
reproaching  herself  for  having  given  way  in- 
stead of  making  the  others  happier.  Mrs. 
Hearn  lay  in  precisely  the  same  attitude,  with 
her  hands  over  her  face,  the  cup  of  tea  un- 
touched beside  her.  Her  daughter,  so  young, 
and  patient,  and  hopeful,  stood  regarding  her 
with  unutterable  tenderness  ;  then  tlie  grief  of 
her  heart  found  utterance  against  her  will. 

"  Oh,  mother,  you  have  me  left." 

Mrs.  Ilearn  was  not  insensible  to  this  ap- 
peal ;  she  quickly  withdrew  her  hands,  and 
looked  into  the  clear  eyes  of  her  child. 

"  I  am  selfish.  But  you  do  not  know  how 
hard  it  is  to  bear  all  alone — all  alone  I  If  your 
father  were  only  here  to  share  it.  My  own 
daughter  to  go  away  and  marry  a  man  I  never 
saw !" 

Then  she  burst  into  nervous,  feeble  weeping, 
which  somewhat  relieved  her.  Olive  soothed 
her,  suggested  hope  in  every  form  which  her  of- 
fice of  consoler  could  discover,  and  thought  of 
Ethel  with  sudden  bitterness,  for  thus  wound- 
ing her  mother.  The  little  sister's  eftbrts  were 
so  far  successful  that  when  slie  cracked  a  poor 
little  joke  about  one  old  maid  being  left  in  the 
family,  by  a  Mise  dispensation  of  Providence, 
the  mother  smiled  faintly. 

In  the  mean  while  Peggy,  seated  before  tlie 
open  Bible,  was  arguing  with  Deity,  entirely 
without  intentional  irreverence. 

"  It  ain't  right  for  one  young  thing  to  hev' 
all  the  trouble.  Any  one  can  see  that.  It 
don't  matter  for  an  old  body  like  me  to  live 
shet  np  so.  One  place  is  as  good  as  another 
when  you  get  to  be  sixty  odd.  Then,  as  if  it 
wasn't  enough  to  be  always  planning  and  fuss- 
ing for  her  mother — bless  her! — that  beau  had 
to  come  and  make  her  happy  for  a  spell,  only 
to  shoot  off  agin.  It's  enough  to  break  any 
camel's  back,  the  way  she's  had  to  excuse  Eth- 
el to  her  mother,  I  declare." 

Oh,  Peggy,  would  you  disarrange  the  pat- 
tern, weaving  through  all  the  ages,  with  dark 
and  bright  threads,  under  the  All-seeing  eye  ? 
What  if  the  noblest  natures  are  purified  in  the 
chasuble  of  affliction  ?  And  what  if  repara- 
tion to  Albert  Hearn's  wife  should  be  the  lov- 
ing fidelity  of  one  of  Albert  Heurn's  children 
through  all  these  weary  years  ? 

The  clock  struck  twelve.  The  strokes  rang 
on  Mrs.  Hearn's  brain  with  painful  distinctness. 
She  raised  herself  and  listened.  A  dim  light 
burned  in  the  hall ;  Olive  was  sleeping  the 
dreamless  sleep  of  youth  in  an  adjoining  room; 
even  Peggy  had  succumbed  to  bodily  weariness, 


closed  her  Bible,  and  gone  to  bed.  For  the 
mother  there  was  no  rest.  The  shock  of  ex- 
citement had  brought  the  enemy  of  her  life 
trooping  back  with  all  his  legions.  She  Iiad 
been  aroused  from  a  doze  by  a  thrill  of  agony 
darting  through  cheek  and  temple.  The  veins 
of  her  temple  projected  like  knotted  cords,  a 
cliill  perspiration  rained  down  her  face.  "Let 
the  child  sleep  while  she  can,"  she  thouglit, 
fearful  of  arousing  Olive.  "  To-morrow  will  be 
anotlier  day,  alterday,  as  good  King  Taldemar 
said."  Then,  with  her  brain  on  fire,  she  rocked 
herself,  repeating:  "Alterday,  Alterday,"  un- 
consciously. The  pain  fiend  put  her  to  incon- 
ceivable torture  in  the  application  of  his  In- 
quisition, as  if  to  wring  a  groan  from  her  li])s, 
which  would  bring  a  small,  white-robed  figure 
to  her  side.  Darts  of  flame  flashed  before  her 
closed  eyes.  She  buried  her  head  in  the  pil- 
low, clenching  her  teeth  on  it. 

"  I  wonder  who  bought  my  daughter's  wed- 
ding clothes.  Oh,  Albert,  we  are  brought  very 
low  when  strangers  pay  for  her  trousseau!" 
Wounded  sensitive-plants  do  not  close  in  sleep. 
She  rose  and  paced  the  room  with  her  light 
step.  The  poor  woman  was  beside  herself  in 
the  terrible  anguish  of  suffering,  yet  she  must 
think — think  with  an  acute  perception  of  evil, 
and  no  power  to  see  good.  At  one  moment  she 
leaned  far  out  the  window,  inhaling  the  grate- 
ful damjiness  of  night,  the  next  she  immersed 
her  face  in  ice-cold  water,  then  she  recklessly 
beat  her  head  to  deaden  sensation.  Suddenly 
the  fiend  whispered,  "Morphine."  Mrs.  Ilearn 
sliivered,  and  glanced  toward  a  closet.  In  the 
closet  was  oblivion.  She  returned  to  her  bed 
resolutely.  Some  slight  noise  just  then  aroused 
the  little  sister,  who  crept  in  as  she  was  in  the 
habit  of  doing  several  times  in  the  night.  She 
thought  that  her  mother  looked  haggard  and 
white,  but  the  invalid  feigned  sleep.  A  fierce 
contest  raged  within  the  latter's  breast.  At 
length  she  went  to  the  closet ;  she  would  mere- 
ly look  at  the  remedy.  There  it  stood,  a  small 
phial,  filled  with  a  colorless  liquid.  Insignifi- 
cant in  appearance,  but  gazed  at  by  the  yearn- 
ing eyes  of  misery  so  often,  and  bringing  a  fatal 
death  in  life  to  its  votaries.  This  bottle  had  a 
history  in  the  Hearn  family.  Mrs.  Hearn  had 
used  it,  until  Olive  had  observed,  with  inex- 
pressible horror,  that  she  Avas  drifting  into  a 
habit  of  requiring  the  narcotic  at  stated  hours. 
Tiiere  had  been  a  struggle — drunkards,  wheth- 
er of  liquors  or  drugs,  being  self-dccc])tive — 
and  the  daughter's  firmness  won.  ISIrs.  Hearn 
promised  never  to  touch  the  medicine  without 
Olive's  entire   consent.     Again   she   resisted 


106 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


temptation,  and  returned  to  bed.  Her  best 
resolutions  faltered.  The  fiend — surely  never 
her  own  better  nature — waxed  defiant.  What 
was  honor  to  torture  ?  What  right  had  Olive 
to  exact  such  a  promise  from  Jier  poor  mother, 
for  a  jiiinciple?  rrincijile  I  Her  trcnihling 
hands  clutciied  the  bottle. 

Olive  know  what  had  happened  when  her 
mother  opened  her  eyes  at  a  late  hour  next 
day.  Abashed  and  humiliated,  Mrs.  Ilearn 
avoided  her  daughter's  gaze.  "  I  have  broken 
my  promise.  I  could  not  endure  more,"  she 
whispered,  hoarsely.  "  Oh  that  death  might 
render  me  no  longer  contemptible  !" 

Olive  refrained  from  mentioning  the  medi- 
cine again,  only,  with  ever-increasing  pain,  kept 
the  phial  replenished.  Later,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Kaines  came.  Ethel  was  all  smiles  and  pretty 
triumph.  She  put  her  arms  around  Peggy's 
neck  at  the  door,  and  the  old  nurse  thawed 
into  a  proud  smile. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  be  home  once  more  !"said 
the  bride,  embracing  Olive.  Then  she  added 
to  her  husband,  "  This  is  your  new  sister,"  and 
Mr.  Raines  obediently  kissed  Olive,  although 
the  little  sister  did  not  care  much  about  being 
thus  saluted. 

Ethel  left  them  in  the  tiny  parlor  to  make 
the  best  of  each  other's  society,  while  she  ran 
up  stairs  to  the  mother's  room.  Olive  dread- 
ed this  tke-a-tkc  with  her  brother-in-law,  and 
sat  casting  about  in  her  mind  for  some  topic 
of  conversation  which  should  be  conventional. 
Mr.  Raines,  also,  conscious  of  some  awkward- 
ness, stood  before  a  choice  engraving,  a  relic 
of  Albert  Hearn's  better  days,  which  gave  Ol- 
ive the  opportunity  to  study  the  back  of  his 
head,  and  speculate  on  how  soon  he  would  be 
bald.  Fortunately,  he  found  something  to  say 
about  the  famous  original  of  the  picture,  which 
he  had  seen,  before  they  congealed  into  statues. 
Olive  was  interested,  against  her  will,  in  Tin- 
toretto, although  she  still  regarded  Mr.  Raines 
with  asperity.  What  business  had  a  plain, 
small  gentleman  to  marry  handsome  Ethel  ? 
Suppose  he  was  rich.  He  had  need  to  be,  one 
would  think,  to  balance  things. 

Observe,  the  little  sister  was  not  at  all 
worldly-wise,  nor  did  she  judge  mankind  by  a 
fair  standard  in  comparing  them  with  Nelson's 
extraordinary  beauty.  Mr.  Raines  read  this 
hostility  at  a  glance.  lie  was  a  trifle  offended, 
and  a  good  deal  amused.  Perhaps  Mr.  Raines 
was  more  in  the  habit  of  playing  the  great  gen- 
tleman than  was  good  for  him.  He  certainly 
had  not  expected  to  sue  for  pardon  when  he 
entered  this  humble  domicile,  and  elevated  a 


daughter  by  marriage,  yet  Olive  lost  nothing 
of  his  respect  by  her  entire  unwillingness  to  re- 
ceive him.  He  frowned  once  at  the  picture, 
then  turned  to  his  companion.  There  sat  the 
little  sister,  on  the  extreme  edge  of  her  chair, 
in  a  stiff,  old-maidish  attitude,  intending  to  be 
elaborately  civil,  and  not  in  the  least  aware  of 
her  failure. 

"You  do  not  forgive  me  yet,  I  perceive,  but 
you  will  in  time,  I  hope.  I  shall  try  to  make 
the  child  happy;  and,"  freezing  a  little,  "she 
was  not  forced  to  marry  me  against  her  will." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  not,"  stammered  Olive, 
blushing  violently. 

"You  must  not  consider  her  lost,  although 
it  is  natural  for  families  to  feel  such  partings 
keenly,  especially  women.  You  will  judge  mc 
more  leniently  when  your  own  turn  comes." 

"I  shall  never  marry,"  said  Olive,  prompt- 
ly,- glaiTcing  at  him  with  a  quick  suspicion. 
Could  it  be  possible' that  Ethel  had  told  him 
iibont  KdlSon  ? 

Mrt  Raines  made  no  immediate  reply ;  his 
smile  said  more  plainly  than  words  :  "Young 
ladies  more  frequently  form  such  resolutions 
than  keep  them."  Ethel  returned  radiant  with 
satisfaction.  She  had  resolved  to  make  all 
amends  to  her  mother,  and  had  succeeded. 
She  glanced  with  some  curiosity  at  Olive,  then 
approached  her  husband. 

"  Mother  wishes  to  see  you." 

"  Is  it  not  too  much  for  her  strength  ?" 

Ethel  looked  at  him  beseechingly,  and  Mr. 
Raines,  being  on  his  good  behavior  with  his 
wife's  relations  in  this  first  interview,  obedient- 
ly went. 

Mrs.  Hearn's  chamber  was  very  simple  in 
appointment,  but  exquisitely  clean.  The  r^e 
she  wore  had  been  bleached  to  snowy  white- 
ness by  Peggy's  hands ;  her  hair  was  becom- 
ingly arranged,  and  a  knot  of  lavender  ribbons 
at  the  throat  gave  a  tinge  of  color  to  the  fiided 
face.  A  cool,  green,  twilight  chamber,  with  a 
pervading  atmosjihere  of  fragrance  from  the  lil- 
ies in  the  vases.  It  was  none  of  i\Ir.  Raines's 
affair  that  the  little  sister  had  toiled  in  the  hot 
sun  after  the  lilies ;  had  paused  on  the  thresh- 
old to  note  the  artistic  effect  of  light  or  shade 
on  her  invalid ;  had  even  consulted  Peggy  as 
to  the  advisability  of  allowing  him  to  sit  in  a 
cane  chair,  or  the  arm-chair,  with  a  cashmere 
shawl  draped  cleverly  over  the  back  to  conceal 
its  shabbiness.  When  he  entered  this  hushed 
room,  and  encountered  Jlrs.  Hearn's  earnest 
gaze,  he  realized  the  wrong  Ethel  had  done. 
The  mother  desired  to  see  her  daughter's  hus- 
band alone.    The  interview  was  long  and  quiet. 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


107 


Ethel  held  court  below  stairs,  with  Olive  and 
Peggy  for  subjects.  How  pretty  she  was !  And 
with  what  pride  did  she  sketch  the  future  of 
Mrs.  Raines ! 

"Do  not  forget  tlic  mother,"  Olive  wanted. 

Then  the  bride  flitted  into  tlie  dining-room, 
reached  to  a  shelf  for  a  little  volume  of  Tenny- 
son, and  overturned  a  port-folio  of  sketches. 
How  came  a  sheet  of  paper  in  her  hand,  a  mere 
suggestion  of  the  low,  curving  shore,  with  tlie 
fog  rolling  in  from  the  sea?  Instantly  the 
scene  flashed  back  to  her,  this  fickle  Ethel,  as- 
sisted by  circumstances  to  forget,  rushed  over 
her  with  an  overwhelming  mastery  and  intensi- 
ty of  vaiu  longing,  which  blinded  her  eyes  with 
sudden  tears.  Oh,  the  beautiful  young  face 
bending  over  her  that  night !  Oh,  life,  full, 
perfect,  self-sacrificing,  if  shared  with  him  ! 
Gone,  gone,  never  to  return  in  time  or  eternity. 
"I  am  glad  I  closed  the  gate  !"  she  said,  pas- 
sionately. 

The  little  sister's  arms  encircled  her. 

"My  dear,  the  step  you  have  taken  was  ter- 
ribly rash.     God  help  you!" 

Ethel  proudly  dashed  away  her  tears. 

"  God  helps  those  who  help  themselves  " — the 
soft  lips  uttered  Miss  Raines's  hard  philosophy 
already. 


"  God  has  helped  you  all  your  life,  Ethel 
Hearn.  The  time  will  surely  come  when  you 
will  need  him." 

How  meek  and  tame  the  little  sister  was! 
Fate  brings  to  each  of  us  our  allowance  soon 
enough  ;  Ethel  had  gone  forth  to  meet  it  with 
eager,  outstretched  hand,  while  Olive  had  pa- 
tiently awaited  it. 

Up  stairs  Sirs.  Hearn  was  saying : 

"  Had  I  been  coiKulted  about  your  marriage 
you  should  have  learned  this  before." 

"It  could  have  made  no  dificrence,  I  assure 
you." 

Then  Mr.  Raines  came  down  stairs,  know- 
ing more  of  Ethel's  father  than  she  did,  and  the 
visitors  departed. 

"  You  may  hold  my  parasol." 

"  "With  pleasure.  I  believe  that  I  will  send 
out  to  Europe  for  a  coral  handle  and  poiut-lace 
cover.     Would  you  like  it  ?" 

"Of  all  things,"  assented  Ethel,  with  spark- 
ling eyes.  After  all,  it  was  nice  to  be  Mrs. 
Raines,  and  have  a  husband  devoted  to  her. 
Ethel  looked  at  him  complacently.  What 
could  she  not  make  him  do  ?  Alas !  that  wom- 
an should  believe  her  power  to  be  unbounded. 
As  it  happened,  Ethel  Hearn  was  not  the  ro- 
mance of  John  Raines's  life. 


CHAPTER  XXXIir. 


THE  HERMIT. 


DOWN  by  the  river  the  old  house  stood, 
holding  its  secret  close.  Joseph  Host  had 
nearly  wrested  it  away,  bui  deatli  had  checked 
the  progress  of  Joseph  Eost,  and  saved  the 
house.  Saved?  Daylight  disclosed  fresh  lines 
and  crevices  in  its  aged  front,  like  the  wrinkles 
of  laughter  in  an  old  man's  ftice.  Above  the 
decayed  walls  rose  the  marble  Virgin  in  stain- 
less purity.  The  flowers  and  weeds  grew  rank 
in  the  garden,  the  humid  steps  were  again  un- 
trodden ;  the  very  layers  of  dust,  gathering  in 
impalpable  folds,  had  settled  on  every  projec- 
tion as  before  the  coming  of  the  Jew. 

The  sole  occupant  of  the  place  was  the  In- 
dian woman,  wlio  glided  swiftly  among  the 
trees,  collecting  the  simple  necessities  of  her 
life,  bright-eyed,  alert,  and  ever  watchful  for 
the  return  of  Bernardo. 

On  the  morning  of  which  we  write,  she  was 
molting  the  berries  that  furnished  the  candles 
of  her  altar,  in  an  iron  pot,  over  some  crack- 
ling branches,  when  she  felt  her  skirt  pulled. 
Turning,  she  saw  a  large,  rough  dog  of  saga- 
cious aspect.  The  Indian  passively  watched 
his  movements.  The  dog  whined,  fawned  on 
her,  licked  her  hands,  ran  a  short  distance, 
paused  to  see  if  she  followed,  then  returned  to 
repeat  his  entreaties.  The  woman  went  to  her 
room,  returning  armed  with  a  JMexican  dagger, 
bow  and  arrows  slung  over  her  shoulder,  and  a 
rifle  in  her  hands.  Apparently  satisfied  with 
this  curious  mixture  of  barbarous  and  civilized 
weapons,  the  dog  bounded  through  the  thicket. 
The  Indian  followed.  A  man  hung  limp  in 
the  lower  branches  of  a  small  tree.  He  was 
evidently  injured,  and  had  made  great  exer- 
tions to  climb  the  tree  out  of  reach  of  some 
enemy.  "Alligator,"  muttered  the  Indian, 
and  began  to  search  the  underbrush  carefully, 
aided  by  the  dog.  A  hidden  object  presently 
stirred  the  leaves  cautiously.     Beware  of  the 


cruel  jaws,  the  slimy  length  of  hidden  reptile  I 
The  dog  shrank  back,  trembling.  The  Indian 
surveyed  her  antagonist  contemptuously,  from 
intimate  association  with  the  monster  since 
childhood.  Iler  keen  glance  told  her  that  the 
alligator  was  already  wounded  in  the  head. 
Measuring  her  aim  critically,  she  fitted  an  ar- 
row into  the  bow,  and  sent  the  barbed  agony 
home  through  the  eye  to  the  sluggish  brain. 
The  creature  moaned  like  a  human  being. 
Then  the  savage  burst  forth,  coursing  like  a 
lava  torrent  of  fierce  delight  through  her  veins. 
Generations  of  warrior  ancestors  impelled  her 
to  crush  and  trample  a  fallen  foe.  The  war 
between  rejitilc  and  man  dilated  her  nostril, 
and  flashed  in  her  eye,  as  she  plunged  her  dag- 
ger into  the  helpless  carcass.  She  despised 
the  alligator,  she  wreaked  vengeance  on  it,  she 
wrought  herself  into  a  frenzy  over  the  work. 

But  when  the  wounded  man  opened  his 
eyes  he  was  lying  on  a  soft  blanket  in  the  In- 
dian's room,  and  she  was  skillfully  binding  up 
his  wounds  with  bruised  leaves  and  aromatic- 
scented  herbs.  The  faithful  dog  lay  stretch- 
ed across  the  threshold,  afraid  to  ap])roach  his 
master  without  the  Indian's  sanction.  The  man 
smiled  faintly,  and  nodded  a  friendly  greeting. 
She  replied  gravely.  These  two  knew  each 
otlier ;  they  were  neighbors,  after  a  fixshion. 
lie  had  ajipeared  five  years  before,  built  a  cab- 
in in  the  fir  plantation  half  a  mile  up  the  river, 
and  sat  watching  the  rippling  water  all  day. 
lie  lived  as  a  hermit  withdrawn  from  the 
world.  Often  he  met  the  Indian,  in  lonely 
rambles;  once,  indeed,  she  had  broifght  him  a 
gift  of  yams,  and  asked  his  oi)inion  about  Ber- 
nardo's long  absence. 

"  The  alligator  tracked  me  unexpectedly, 
and  sna])ped  at  my  leg  before  I  bould  get 
away.     I  shot  it  once." 

She  mixed  a  bitter  draught,  while  he  spoke, 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


109 


in  an  earthen  vase,  bade  him  drink,  and  soon 
sleep  settled  gently  on  his  eyelids.  They  form- 
ed a  singular  contrast  of  races  :  the  Indian's 
bronzed  face,  thin,  eager,  self-contained  ;  the 
sleeping  old  man,  with  beard  and  hair  like  the 
silk  of  milkweed,  or  cotton  in  the  pod,  regular 
features,  and  a  transparent  fairness  of  com- 
plexion. 

The  dog  suddenly  pricked  up  his  ears,  but 
his  sense  of  hearing  was  scarcely  more  acute 
than  that  of  tlie  woman.  She  passed  rapidly 
around  the  house  and  confronted  strangers 
coming  up  the  path  from  the  beach,  as  she  had 
faced  Joseph  Host  before — two  young  men  in 
blue  uniform,  one  tall  and  handsome,  the  other 
small,  red-haired,  and  ugly.  The  latter  accost- 
ed her  with  easy  familiarity. 

""We  are  glad  to  find  you  well,  aunty.  We 
are  going  to  make  you  a  visit." 

"  Did  Bernardo  send  you  ?"  she  inquired, 
slowly. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  do  not  know  Ber- 
nardo." 

"This  is  no  place  for  strangers,  then.  Why 
do  you  come  ?" 

"Do  not  chaff  her,  Nicholas.  You  little 
know  the  breed,"  urged  his  companion,  in  an 
under-tone. 

"We  will  not  trouble  you," said  Nicholas, 
good-huraoredly.  "  We  want  to  see  the  house, 
and  a  queer  old  place  it  is.  We  must  behold 
it,  by  fair  means,  if  possible,  by  foul,  if  not. 
Does  she  understand  that,  think  you  ?  Come, 
let  us  ransack  before  night,  and  then  camp 
somewhere  near.  Mind  you,  I  believe  that  old 
fellow  was  cracked  who  left  you  the  pocket- 
book.  Men  have  dreamed  of  treasures  before. 
Still,  the  description  tallies,  and  it  serves  as  a 
lark."  So  saying,  Nicholas  Hearn  gave  a  re- 
sounding blow  to  the  door,  which  fell  open, 
and  they  entered  the  hall — desolate,  chill,  si- 
lent, and  void,  with  the  ashes  of  the  Jew's  fire 
still  on  the  hearth. 

The  Indian  hesitated,  watching  their  move- 
ments with  glittering  eyes ;  then  she  went 
away. 

"Let  them  touch  one  of  bis  things!"  she 
muttered. 


The  two  young  men  explored  to  their  hearts' 
content.  To  be  sure,  the  doors  were  fastened 
leading  from  the  hall,  but  they  were  off  on  fur- 
lough, and  there  was  ample  time  to  dig  for 
Captain  Kidd's  treasure,  as  Nicholas  called  it. 
Nelson  was  becoming  more  impatient ;  some 
portion  of  Joseph's  eagerness  seemed  to  have 
been  his  inheritance  with  the  pocket-book. 
The  wounded  man's  slumbers  were  broken  by 
a  cheery  voice. 

"HuUoa,  aunty!  Have  you  got  any  thing 
to  eat?     We  are  starving." 

The  hermit  opened  his  eyes,  with  a  great 
start,  and  looked  at  Nicholas  Ilearn  standing 
at  the  door. 

"Dear  me!  a  sick  man.  I  am  sorry  to 
disturb  you  !"  exclaimed  Nicholas,  in  dismay. 
"Are  you  the  master  of  the  house?  I  wish 
you  would  make  the  old  woman  feed  us  ;  she's 
uncommonly  rusty,  you  know." 

A  strange  dread  and  awe  rested  on  the  her- 
mit ;  he  made  no  reply,  but  continued  to  gaze 
at  the  intruder  gravely.  A  voice  was  speaking 
to  him  out  of  the  remote  past  like  an  echo  of 
his  own  life. 

"He's  cracked,  too,"  thought  Nicholas,  and 
bore  the  investigation  patiently  until  he  should 
speak. 

"  Where  did  you  come  from  ?" 

"  Down  the  river.  We  are  off  on  leave,  and 
wish  to  explore  this  old  house.  There  is  no 
harm  in  that,  is  there  ?" 

"  Certainly  not.  I  will  speak  to  the  wom- 
an, and  you  will  find  food  at  my  cabin  in 
the  fir  plantation  above.  Will  you  come 
again  ?" 

"To  be  sure  I  will  —  as  often  as  you 
like ;  and  we  must  nurse  you  well.  Is  it  fe- 
ver ?" 

"No,  no,  an  alligator  attacked  me.  Your 
accent  is  different — did  you — live — north  ?" 

"Yes.  My  home  is  Shellport.  Do  you 
know  that  place?" 

Nicholas  was  fondling  the  dog. 

"No.     And  your  name ?" 

"Nicholas  Hearn.  Why,  what  is  the  mat- 
ter ?■' 

The  hermit  had  quietly  fainted. 


^Q^. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


FOUND. 


AN  hour  later  the  two  young  men  were  con- 
templating with  the  satisfaction  of  weary 
travelers  a  fire  blazing  on  the  broad  hearth  of 
the  old  hall.  At  first  they  had  discussed  sleep- 
ing on  the  ground,  as  in  camp  ;  but  had  final- 
ly decided  to  allow  themselves  the  unusual  lux- 
ury of  a  shelter  of  any  sort.  Not  having  old' 
Jake  in  the  capacity  of  steward,  they  had  been 
obliged  to  act  as  their  own  purveyors,  even  go- 
ing as  far  as  the  hermit's  cabin  to  borrow  from 
his  stock  of  provisions.  Nicholas  had  not  yet 
given  a  full  description  of  his  interview  with 
the  stranger. 

"You  saw  him  well  out  of  it,  of  course,"  Nel- 
son, who  Avas  on  his  knees  sorting  hard  bread 
out  of  their  knapsack,  observed. 

"I  should  think  so," replied  Nicholas,  with 
his  gaze  fixed  on  the  coflee-pot.  "  You  should 
have  seen  the  old  woman  pounce  on  me!  She 
ordered  me  off,  with  such  a  look.  But  I  was 
not  to  be  disposed  of  in  that  fashion.  I  know 
something  about  doctoring  ;  I  studied  medicine 
once  for  a  while." 

"  Oh,  Nicholas !  what  have  you  not  stud- 
ied?" exclaimed  Nelson. 

"Knowledge  is  power,"  said  Nicholas,  grave- 
ly, raising  the  lid,  and  squinting  into  the  cof- 
fee-pot. "I  felt  his  pulse,  and  all  that,  and 
when  I  found  he  was  coming  around  I  walked 
off.  Catch  me  worrying  the  poor  man  again ; 
his  nerves  are  too  shaky.  Indians  are  cajjital 
nurses.  What  did  make  him  faint,  I  won- 
der." 

"Tlie  poor  soul  has  been  so  long  out  of  cre- 
ation that  he  is  like  the  wild  animals.  Fled 
from  some  real  or  imaginary  evil,  and  is  half 
insane,  probably.  In  Europe  he  would  have 
become  aTrapi)ist,  and  his  name  have  perished 
with  him." 

"  Strange  !  when  there  is  so  much  to  be  done 
in  the  world,"  said  Nicholas ;  and  losing  him- 


self in  this  thought,  staring  at  the  fire,  permit- 
ted the  coffee  to  boil  over. 
.  Nelson  and  Nicholas  were  the  best  possible 
friends,  from  the  very  contrast  of  their  natures. 
Nelson  was  the  practical  financier,  Nicholas  the 
nerve  force.  Their  interests  did  not  clash, 
thus  creating  envy,  but  followed  widely  differ- 
ent channels.  As  soldiers  they  worked  shoul- 
der to  shoulder.  "With  regard  to  the  disagree- 
ment with  the  girls,  Nicholas  saw  no  occasion 
to  take  up  cudgels  against  his  college  mate, 
and  believed  it  would  "  all  come  right "  some 
time. 

How  it  was  to  come  right,  Nicholas  did  not 
trouble  himself  to  decide ;  he  was  sorry  for  any 
unhappiness,  but  rather  thought  that,  if  the  girls 
had  something  to  do,  were  deeply  versed  in 
science,  for  instance,  they  would  find  no  time 
for  moping.  As  for  Nelson,  he  was  a  man, 
with  a  man's  work  before  him.  Nicholas  did 
not  see  any  necessity  for  pitying  him. 

Tiie  supper  was  dispatched  with  relish,  al- 
beit frugal,  and  then  they  filled  their  pipes. 

"  Oh  !  did  I  tell  you  I  got  a  letter  from  home 
just  before  we  started  ?"  said  Nicholas. 

It  was  a  full  minute  before  Nelson  trusted 
his  voice  to  inquire  : 

"All  well?" 

"All  well,  and  Ethel  married." 

"Married  I" 

How  the  fire  leaped  and  dazzled !  How 
unnaturally  loud  sounded  the  tones  of  his  own 
voice!  Did  he  actually  siiout  the  word,  or 
had  Nicholas  repeated  it?  Or  were  his  senses 
stunned  with  that  singing  in  his  brain  ?  Ethel 
married !  Gone,  lost  to  him  forever.  In  the 
selfishness  of  his  pain,  he  never  once  thought 
of  the  little  sister.  To  be  sure,  he  had  not 
hoped  for  any  thing  but  wide  separation,  yet — 
Olive  might  have  forgiven  him  in  time.  It 
was  torture  to  consider  this  girl  of  his  briglitcr 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


Ill 


fancy  as  belonging  to  another  man.  What 
did  the  old  clock  know  about  it?  lie  found 
himself  asking  this  childish  question,  because 
he  fancied  there  was  intelligence  in  its  ghostly 
silence.  When  had  the  pendulum  swung  the 
sad  refrain  "Never — forever,"  and  whose  life 
had  been  ticked  away  ? 

Nicholas  Hearn,  who  was  entirely  devoid  of 
imagination  except  in  the  speculations  of  his 
own  future  success,  did  not  particularly  notice 
his  friend's  abstraction. 

"By  Jove  !  I  am  glad  Ethel  has  caught  such 
a  fish,"  he  continued,  M-armly.  "It  is  not  only 
that  he  is  rich,  although  that  is  a  comfortable 
thing  too,  but  he  is  as  good  as  gold.  I  shall 
never  forget  him  !  I  declare,  if  he  wanted  my 
head  to-morrow,  I  would  give  it  to  him  in  a 
minute." 

If  Mr.  Raines  accepted  the  gift  of  Nicholas 
Ilearn's  head  so  generously  proifered  by  the 
owner,  it  would  never  he  as  an  ornament,  but 
rather  from  some  internal  quality  of  usefulness. 
Nelson  Mould  scarcely  have  been  human  had 
he  not  sneered  a  trifle  when  his  heart-strings 
■were  thus  ti-ampled  upon. 

"  He  seems  to  be  a  favorite.  May  I  ask  his 
name?" 

"Mr.  Raines." 

"What!  that  old  fellow?  I  forgot;  of 
course,  money  is  the  first  consideration,  A 
good  match  to  wed  a  grandfather !  How  girls 
do  sell  themselves !" 

"I  should  say  he  was  worth  every  inch  as 
much  as  Ethel,"  replied  Nicholas,  quietly. 

Then  it  did  occur  to  him  that  the  subject 
must  be  a  painful  one. 

Nelson  said  very  little  more  that  night.  He 
replied  in  monosyllables  when  Nicholas  ram- 
bled off  in  ghostly  dissertations  suggested  by 
their  surroundings,  and  the  fun  it  would  be  to 
search  the  old  place.  With  a  feeling  of  posi- 
tive relief,  Nelson  hade  him  good-night,  after 
each  had  placed  his  heavy  boots  for  a  pillow 
beneath  the  blanket,  soldier  fashion,  and  lay 
down  beside  the  replenished  fire.  Nicholas 
fell  asleep.  Nelson  lay  looking  at  the  glow 
on  the  ceiling  from  the  coals,  as  Joseph  Rost 
had  done,  with  throbbing,  aching  brain.  Jo- 
seph had  thought  of  Rachel  as  Samuel's  bride, 
with  much  the  same  bitterness  that  Nelson  now 
thought  of  Ethel  as  the  wife  of  John  Raines. 
The  solemnity  of  the  night,  the  lonely  desertion 
of  the  place,  weighed  on  his  spirits,  because  a 
part  of  his  misery.  If  he  had  only  known  be- 
fore! He  would  have  rescued  Ethel  at  all 
hazards.  People  might  have  thought  their 
worst.     His  father  could  have  still  further  de- 


nounced him.  Olive  —  here  came  a  sharp 
twinge  of  i)ain — well,  Olive  would  have  consid- 
ered him  the  mean  hound  he  was.  He  writh- 
ed at  the  idea.  IIow  dreary  and  long  life 
would  be ;  how  blank  and  devoid  of  interest ! 
Again  he  felt  the  golden  hair  drift  across  his 
cheek.  Again  the  gray  eyes,  deep  and  dreamy, 
■were  raised  to  his,  while  the  ghostly  clock 
above  his  head  surely  ticked  "Never  —  for- 
ever." 

It  was  not  the  clock,  it  was  the  stroke  of 
conscience  vibrating  through  his  being.  This 
was  his  punishment.  The  measure  he  had 
meted  out  to  Olive,  his  chosen  Avife,  was  now 
his  portion.  He  had  been  unfaithful  to  her, 
and  Ethel  unfaithful  to  him,  in  turn.  If  he 
could  only  act,  it  would  be  savagely,  but  he 
was  restrained  by  wide  distance.  The  powers 
of  good  and  evil  were  testing  the  manhood  of 
Nelson  Thorne  that  night.  Had  his  father 
known  it,  what  passionate  prayers  for  his  de- 
liverance would  have  come  from  the  strong 
man's  soul ! 

Thus  the  darkness  gathered  around  them ; 
the  hermit,  intensely  wakeful,  in  the  out-build- 
ing, and  the  young  soldiers  following  the  clue 
of  a  letter  which  might  prove  as  delusive  as  a 
vision. 

It  may  have  been  hours  later  that  Nicholas 
Hearn  was  aroused  to  a  condition  of  rigid 
wakefulness.  He  did  not  fear  any  thing  mor- 
tal, tangible,  but  on  the  barrier  of  the  unseen 
world  he  had  never  stepped.  A  cold  current 
of  air  awakened  him,  without  a  transition  state 
of  drowsiness,  every  faculty  unnaturally  alert 
and  keen.  On  the  other  side  of  the  hearth 
Nelson  was  sitting  erect,  and  between  stood  an 
old  man  in  a  green  coat,  holding  a  glittering 
chain  of  jewels  in  his  hands. 

"Father,  how  came  you  here?"  asked  Nel- 
son. 

The  old  man  did  not  heed  the  question.  He 
stood  there  with  an  expression  of  musing  ad- 
miration on  his  face,  turaing  the  necklace 
through  his  fingers,  or  laying  it  against  the  re- 
lief of  his  coat  sleeve,  to  bring  out  the  lights. 
Nicholas  observed,  with  horror,  that  a  long  silk 
scarf  of  curious  netted  Avork  was  tied  around 
the  stranger's  neck,  and  the  ends  trailed  behind 
on  the  floor. 

"Father,  father,  speak  to  me  !"  entreated 
Nelson,  almost  wildly,  rising  to  his  feet. 

Nicholas  mechanically  did  the  same. 

The  old  man  glanced  quickly  over  his  shoul- 
der, not  at  Nelson,  but  beyond,  and  concealed 
the  chain  in  his  breast.  Simultaneously  the 
two  young  men  extended  their  arms  to  grasp 


112 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


liim  ;  the  fire  leaped  up,  distinctly  revealing  his 
figure,  then  went  out.  Nicholas  clasped  Nel- 
son's hands  across  a  vacant  sj)ace. 

"The  fellow  told  the  truth  in  that  letter," 
said  Nicholas,  when  a  torch  was  kindled,  shed- 
ding a  pale  gleam  on  the  two  startled  faces. 
"We  have  seen  the  ghost." 

"  Ghost!" interrupted  Nelson.  "That  was 
my  father." 

Nicholas  regarded  him  in  astonishment. 

"We  must  not  let  these  things  turn  our 
brains.  They  are  queer.  I'crhaps  science  may 
find  a  solution  for  them  some  time." 

"  Science!"  repeated  Nelson,  imi)aticntly ;  "I 
tell  you  it  was  my  own  father.  Don't  you  sup- 
pose that  I  know  him  by  this  time  ?" 

"  Look  here,  Nelson,  your  father  does  not 
wear  his  hair  in  that  way,  or  clothes  of  that  cut. 
I  never  saw  the  like  out  of  a  picture." 

"  True,  but  the  resemblance  is  remarkable," 
replied  Nelson,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  wijiing  his 
damp  brow. 

They  made  a  tour  of  the  premises,  and  dis- 
covered nothing.  The  next  morning  the  young 
men  started  in  search  of  game  and  lish  to  re- 
plenish their  larder. 

"We  must  lay  in  some  provisions,  and  per- 
haps to-night  the  goblin  will  be  so  obliging  as 
to  show  us  where  the  jewels  are  hidden,"  said 
Nicholas,  lightly. 

Nelson  was  gloomy  and  silent ;  he  could  not 
so  easily  shake  oflf  the  influences  of  the  pre- 
vious night. 

All  day  the  hermit  watched,  with  feverish 
eagerness,  for  a  glimpse  of  Nicholas  Ilearn,  but 
the  latter  never  came.  He  had,  however,  in- 
quired of  the  Indian  about  the  sick  man's  con- 
dition. At  last  the  hermit  could  endure  sus- 
pense and  disappointment  no  longer ;  he  beg- 
ged the  woman  to  fetch  the  young  man,  but 
the  Indian  came,  and  went  sullenly,  neither 
promising  nor  refusing.  In  her  heart  she  was 
jealous  that  he  was  not  satisfied  with  her  care. 
Then  he  coaxed  his  dog  to  go,  and  the  animal, 
already  on  excellent  terms  with  the  intruders, 
went.  Toward  evening  the  sick  man  heard 
approaching  footsteps,  and  the  color  deepened 
in  his  cheek. 

Nelson  brought  him  some  birds,  fruit  of  the 
day's  shooting.  The  color  faded  in  the  her- 
mit's face. 

"  Can  I  sec — the  other  one?"  he  asked,  hes- 
itatingly. 

"He  believes  he  had  best  not  come  until  to- 
morrow. " 

"Why ?"  suspiciously. 

"Because  you  are  not  strong  yet." 


"  Is  your  name  Ilcarn  also  ?  Are  you  broth- 
ers ?" 

"No;   friends." 

"  I  should  like  to  sec  him." 

"The  hermit  evidently  likes  you  best,"  said 
Nelson,  afterward, 

Nicholas  went,  to  humor  the  sick  man's  wliim, 
and  Nelson  suddenly  decided  to  explore  the 
room  described  by  Joseph  Host.  The  inter- 
view with  the  hermit  was  unimportant.  When 
Nicholas  returned,  his  comrade  was  rolling  a 
canvas  which  he  put  in  his  knapsack.  They 
agreed  to  take  turns  in  watching  that  night, 
and  draw  lots  for  the  first  choice. 

"Don't  you  see  how  much  easier  it  is?" 
argued  Nicholas.  "  Ghosts  always  point  the 
way  to  secret  treasures  in  stones — get  out  of 
their  graves  on  purpose.  If  the  old  chap — I 
beg  his  pardon,  the  apparition — don't  enlighten 
us  to-night,  we  will  tear  the  house  down  piece- 
meal." 

They  spun  a  coin,  and  the  lot  fell  to  Nicho- 
las. His  companion  rolled  himself  in  his  blank- 
et, and  fell  asleep  ;  Nicholas  sat  bolt-upright, 
his  funny  little  eyes  roving  around  the  place. 
He  smoked  a  pipe,  yawned,  looked  at  the  clock, 
tlien  took  a  wooden  model  of  a  lock  from  a 
convenient  pocket,  and  studied  it  attentively. 
Nicholas  was  a  good  soldier,  wiry,  active,  cour- 
ageous, but  all  the  military  drilling  in  the  world 
could  not  have  banished  the  lock  from  his 
mind.  It  was  to  be  burglar-proof,  easily  ad- 
justable, small,  yet  strong.  In  the  insignifi- 
cant invention  Nicholas  again  saw  a  cloud  cas- 
tle rising  which  should  own  in  him  a  master. 
Suddenly  he  looked  up ;  the  clock  case  had  a 
curious  brass  lock. 

"  I  might  get  an  idea  from  the  old  thing," 
he  soliloquized,  placing  the  torch  on  the  man- 
tel-piece, and  cutting  around  the  lock  with  his 
penknife. 

Angry  eyes  were  watching,  stealthy  steps 
were  drawing  near.  The  wood  was  old,  the 
lock,  with  one  wrench,  lay  in  his  hand,  but  the 
rude  shock  had  wrought  more  than  Nicholas  in 
his  wildest  dreams  anticipated.  The  clock  rest- 
ed in  a  niche,  but  the  jar  sli]'pcd  the  door  off 
the  hinges. 

"I  did  not  mean  to  do  that,"  thought  the 
young  man,  peering  into  the  case. 

In  the  back  was  a  panel  which  had  once 
been  concealed,  but  was  now  revealed  by  the 
warping  of  cracks.  Nicholas's  heart  began  to 
beat  with  excitement.  A  touch  of  his  pen- 
knife opened  the  second  door,  and  in  a  space 
of  the  wall  behind  was  a  small  wooden  box. 

A  quick  hand  swept  down  the  torch,  a  fierce 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


113 


throb  of  pain  darted  through  Nichohis's  shoul- 
der.     He  sank  to  the  ground  witli  a  groan. 

"  What  is  tiie  matter  ?"  cried  Nelson,  aroused 
as  if  from  a  niglitmarc. 

"A  light — quick  !"  panted  Nicliohxs. 

When  the  torch  was  relighted,  they  were 
alone.  Nicholas  Hearn  had  been  stabbed  in 
the  back,  and  tlie  niche  behind  the  clock  was 
vacant,  except  of  a  log-book. 

Outside  a  man  climbed  the  vine  ladder  lead- 
ing up  to  the  statue  of  the  Virgin  quickly. 
He  was  small,  and  bent  in  figure,  with  green- 
ish eyes  and  a  crafty  face.  Then  all  was  still. 
In  the  mean  while  the  hermit  had  passed  an 
eventful  night.  Toward  evening  he  dozed. 
He  was  aroused  by  the  dog.  The  animal  was 
behind  his  master's  couch  on  the  floor,  as  if 
to  get  beyond  the  Indian's  reach,  and  gave  vent 
to  a  dismal  howl.  The  sick  man  opened  his 
eyes,  and  beheld  the  Indian  woman  scowling  at 
the  dog,  while  she  prepared  a  fluid  in  the  vase. 

"  Too  tired,  make  you  sleep,"  she  said,  pla- 
cing the  vase  within  reach  of  his  hand. 

"You  are  a  good  doctor;  what  should  I  do 
without  you  ?"  he  returned,  gratefully. 

She  looked  pleased.  One  of  those  sudden 
impulses  or  convictions  which  flash  through  the 
mind  at  times  seized  the  hermit.  He  raised 
the  vase  to  his  lips,  then  quickly  poured  it  on 
the  ground  when  her  back  was  turned.  Why 
did  she  wish  him  to  sleep  ?  She  had  given  him 
no  drink  the  previous  night.  Why  was  the  dog 
imeasy  ?  Was  her  anger  kindled  against  the 
young  men?  He  must  watch.  For  a  long 
time  the  woman  appeared  to  mean  nothing  un- 
usual ;  she  moved  about  quietly,  the  hermit  pre- 
tending to  sleep,  while  the  dog  kept  between 
his  master  and  the  wall.  Nothing  sinister,  only 
she  looked  at  the  sleeper  occasionally,  and  once 
stole  up  to  examine  the  empty  cup.  Heav- 
ens !  she  could  not  intend  to  murder  him.  He 
must  not  die  now.  The  sick  man's  heart  gave 
such  a  bound  of  alarm  that  he  feared  she 
would  see  the  blanket  heave.  Like  a  shadow 
she  moved  to  the  door,  and  melted  into  the 
darkness  of  night.  He  raised  himself,  and  list- 
ened intently.  The  dog  growled  ;  his  master's 
hand  gripped  his  collar  to  command  silence. 

If  he  could  only  have  followed,  instead  of 
lying  bound  to  the  floor  by  weakness !  Per- 
haps the  young  men  should  have  been  warned 
of  danger.  She  migiit  surprise  them  in  sleep. 
Why  should  she  ?  Surely  his  brain  was  sick 
with  morbid  fancies,  as  well  as  his  body.  He 
tried  to  compose  himself  in  vain.  His  thoughts 
must  follow  the  stealthy  figure  in  the  darkness. 

There  sat  the  man  with  one  hand  on  the 


dog's  throat,  straining  his  senses  to  catch  an 
unusual  sound.  What  if  he  shouted  ?  That 
would  bring  the  Indian  back  sooner  than  help, 
and  when  she  recognized  in  him  a  foe,  a  spy, 
what  dreadful  form  would  her  anger  take  in 
his  helpless  state  ? 

Suddenly  she  sprang  into  the  room,  and 
threw  herself  on  her  couch.  The  hermit  had 
barely  time  to  drop  back  into  his  former  posi- 
tion and  keep  the  dog  quiet.  The  woman 
held  a  small  box,  which  she  thrust  beneath  her 
body  for  concealment.  Not  a  sound  broke 
the  stillness.  She  lay  perfectly  motionless. 
At  last,  when  her  fears  of  being  followed  seem- 
ed to  be  allayed,  she  rose,  and  went  out.  The 
hermit,  wrought  to  the  highest  pitch  of  anxiety, 
crawled  on  his  hands  and  knees  to  the  door. 
Peering  into  the  night,  he  at  last  discerned  her 
by  the  ruined  part  of  the  wall,  where  a  wild  fig- 
tree  grew.  She  lifted  a  heavy  stone,  put  some- 
thing— probably  the  box — among  the  rubbish, 
and  replaced  the  stone. 

She  had  returned  to  her  bed,  the  hermit  hav- 
ing crept  back  with  infinite  pain  and  difficul- 
ty, when  steps  were  heard  approaching,  and  a 
torch  flared.  The  light  fell  on  the  Indian's 
impassive  face  awhile  before  she  ajipeared  to 
awaken. 

"I  want  your  help,"  said  Nelson  Thorne. 

"Help?"  she  repeated,  stupidly,  rubbing  her 
eyes. 

"Yes;  my  friend  has  hurt  himself  a  little." 

"  Me  eome.     Hush  !  he  sleep." 

The  hermit  clenched  his  hands  beneath  the 
blanket ;  the  dog  wagged  his  tail,  but  never 
moved.  The  woman  calmly  gathered  up  her 
herbs  and  accompanied  the  young  man.  Nich- 
olas Hearn  had  received  a  wound  in  the  shoul- 
der, which  was  not  deep  enough  to  be  danger- 
ous. The  inscrutable  bronze  fixce  stooped  to 
e;xamine  it.  For  a  time  she  busied  herself  in 
preparation,  then,  as  she  spread  a  green  leaf 
over  the  injured  part,  a  grim  smile  just  curved 
her  lips.  Nelson  mistrusted  her,  and  he  was 
ordinarily  the  most  unsuspicious  of  mortals. 
This  duty  performed,  she  stalked  away. 

The  door  leading  to  the  back  of  the  house 
was  slowly  opened,  and  the  hermit  crawled  in 
with  his  dog.  He  checked  Nelson's  exclama- 
tion of  surprise  by  an  imperative  gesture.  He 
was  deadly  pale,  trembled  excessively,  and 
drops  of  blood  trickled  from  his  wounded  foot. 
Nelson  held  his  flask  to  the  old  man's  lips. 

"We  have  not  a  moment  to  spare.  The 
woman  did  it.  Oh  !  is  he  much  hurt  ?  You 
must  take  me.  If  I  am  left,  she  will  hunt  me 
down,  and  I  wish  to  live  now.     I  have  deceived 


lU 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


lier;  slic  bulievcs  lliat  I  am  still  asleep  in  the 
dark  yonder.     I  have  the  box  here," 

'•We  need  not  run  away  from  a  woman," 
i^aid  Nelson,  contemptuously. 

'"True,  but  from  an  Indian?  I  tliink  she 
considers  you  thieves  of  some  sort,  and  will 
have  vengeance,  for  I  have  robbed  her. 
Quick  I  the  boat  before  dawn." 

They  made  their  preparations  silently  and 
rapidly.  At  the  door  Nicholas  paused,  bade 
his  companions  wait,  and  went  back  for  the 
lock  of  the  clock  case  and  the  log-book.  As- 
suredly, Nicholas  Hearn  could  not  be  said  to 
neglect  his  opjjortunities. 

Down  to  the  river  and  the  boat.  Out  on 
the  rij)pling  tide,  the  hermit  steering,  with  his 
faithful  dog  between  his  knees,  Nicholas  crouch- 
ed on  the  next  scat,  and  Nelson  pulling  stur- 
dily. 

Push  off  from  the  dark  bank,  with  tlio  old 
house  shrouded  in  its  tangled  thicket,  and  tlic 
savage,  in  her  lair,  guarding  the  treasure  of  a 
dead  owner.  The  loud  report  of  a  rifle  broke 
the  stillness  ;  Nelson  rested  on  his  oars  and 
listened  intently.     What  was  it  ?     Only  this  : 

Reuben  Wentzel  had  tracked  the  two  sol- 
diers when  he  found  that  he  could  not  obtain 
possession  of  Joseph's  pocket-book,  and  had 
hovered  near  the  old  house  for  two  days,  sleep- 
ing in  the  hermit's  deserted  cabin.  He  had 
taken  care  not  to  be  seen  by  a  soul,  and  he  had 
discovered  that  the  vine  ladder  was  an  excel- 
lent perch  at  night,  commanding  as  it  did  the 
ingress  or  egress  of  the  young  men.  As  re- 
garded the  Indian  woman,  Reuben  knew  abso- 
lutely nothing.  This  night  he  had  climbed 
until  he  reached  the  niche  of  the  Virgin,  and 
found  a  resting-place  on  the  ledge  beside  the 
white  figure.  He  may  have  dozed  in  tlie  weary 
vigil,  when  a  noise  startled  him — the  shipping 
of  an  oar.  What !  had  they  accomplished 
their  purpose,  whatever  it  was,  and  gone  ?  He 
pushed  the  statue  with  his  elbow,  perhaps  in 
his  haste  to  get  down,  and  the  marble  form, 
glimmering  weirdly  in  the  night,  toppled  for- 
ward, and  disappeared  with  a  crash.  Ah!  Reu- 
ben Wentzel,  better  to  have  been  aware  of  the 
foe  crouching  panther-like  among  the  shrub- 
bery. Tiicn  the  shot  rang  out,  and  Reuben 
Wentzel  fell. 

After  that  Nicholas  was  very  ill.  They  made 
a  camp  for  him,  and  removed  the  Indian's  band- 
age. Whether  the  ajiplication  was  poisonous, 
or  the  fatigue  of  the  journey  injurious,  was  ques- 
tionable. The  hermit  inclined  to  the  former 
belief.  The  old  man  watched  unweariedly,  for- 
getting his  own  sufferings  in  anxiety  for  the 


other's  recovery.    Gradually  it  dawned  on  Nel- 
son that  this  interest  was  remarkable. 

But  there  came  a  day  when  Nicholas  was  so 
much  better  that  they  could  discuss  matters 
and  examine  the  box.  Tiie  hermit  had  insist- 
ed on  keeping  it  closed  until  they  could  all  in- 
vestigate its  contents.  Tliere  the  necklace  lay, 
destined  never  to  gladden  the  eyes  of  the  dia- 
mond brokers  ;  concealed  by  the  old  master 
from  Bernardo,  who  must  have  been  ignorant 
of  its  existence.  Had  not  the  old  house  held 
its  secret  well  ?  The  sunlight  smote  sparks  of 
flame  from  the  jewels,  and  a  clear  lustre,  like 
drojis  of  water  strung  together,  delighted  the 
eye.  A  chain  of  translucent  emeralds  was 
held  by  a  rim  of  diamonds,  pearls,  rubies,  and 
sapphires. 

Tlie  three  men  were  silent,  dazzled,  stupefied. 
Nicliohis  first  recovered  himself. 

"  Well  done,  old  fellow!  I  congratulate  you. 
Only  think  of  that  letter  being  true  after  all  I 
I  never  believed  a  word  of  it." 

The  hermit  glanced  up  inquiringly. 

"We  will  share  it.  Our  friend  here  has 
earned  a  portion,"  said  Nelson. 

A  light  broke  from  the  old  man's  eyes ;  he 
clutched  tlie  chain  eagerly,  then  he  grew  asliy 
white,  as  he  groaned  : 

"  How  much  is  it  worth  ?  Not  fifty  tliousnnd 
dollars,  surely." 

"Perhaps.  Why,  Nicholas— I  never  thought 
of  that  I"  With  eager  fingers  Nelson  drew  out 
the  pendant  which  he  always  wore. 

He  blushed  even  in  his  excitement.  Ethel 
had  the  other,  A  single  pendant  remained  on 
the  chain,  and  there  were  traces  of  two  others 
having  been  taken  olF.     Exactly  alike. 

"  How  queer !  My  own  mother  has  one 
just  like  this,"  explained  Nicholas. 

"A  curious  relic  ;  where  did  she  obtain  it?" 
Tlie  hermit's  voice  was  sui)])ressed. 

"Oh,  from  her  grandfather !"  said  Nicho- 
las. 

The  old  man  examined  the  necklace  closely  ; 
and  for  the  first  time  since  they  had  known 
him  he  smiled — a  slow,  gradual,  lovely  smile, 
which  just  curved  the  lips  and  lighted  the  whole 
face. 

Nelson  regarded  him  with  trouldod  eyes. 

"Who  are  you  ?" 

"  Do  I  remind  you  of  some  one  ?  Look  I 
Old  eyes  are  keener  than  young  ones.  Here  is 
a  plate  inscribed  with  English  characters :  'The 
Rajah  of  Mattam  to  Captain  Arthur  Rawson.' 
Nicholas,  it  belongs  to  your  mother." 

The  warm  impulse  of  a  fresh  purpose  strung 
the  frame,  so  long  inert  and  hopeless  ;  the  whole 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


Hi 


man  rose,  expanded,  as  the  truth  burst  from  his 
lips. 

"  Tell  me  about  her  I  How  iuivc  vou  lived  ? 
Such  years  of  despair  and  suflering,  and  now 
God  has  sent  you  to  me  !" 

He  was  no  longer  recognizable. 


Nicholas,  never  quick-witted  in  emergencies, 
listened  in  bewilderment. 

Nelson  said : 

"You  are  more  like  Ktiicl  Hearu  than  any 
person  in  the  world." 

"  Yes ;  I  am  her  father." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

EXi'EniENCE    TIIOllNE. 


THE  dark  house  where  Nelson  was  born 
stood  sombre  and  silent  iu  the  cheerl'ul  sun- 
shine. It  was  not  because  Experience  Thorne 
shunned  or  disliked  sunshine,  but  it  did  not 
come  spontaneously  to  him. 

The  master  was  unclianged  in  habit  and  ap- 
pearance. His  only  new  interest  was  in  search- 
ing the  telegraphic  items  of  the  newspapers 
piled  about  him  with  eagerness  and  relief. 

"After  all,  a  soldier's  life  and  death  are  no- 
ble in  such  a  crisis  as  this,"  he  soliloquized, 
when  the  door  opened  and  Nelson  entered. 

The  greeting  between  them  was  remarkably 
cordial ;  tlie  usually  undemonstrative  father  was 
surprised  into  embracing  his  son. 

"Are  you  well — unliurt  ?"  he  asked,  eager- 
ly ;  tlien  immediately  added,  with  an  abrupt 
change  of  tone,  "  You  have  not  shirked  duty, 
I  hope.  Never  ran  away  from  the  enemy,  or 
flinched  under  fire,  eh  ?" 

"  I  believe  not,"  replied  Nelson,  smiling.  "  I 
tore  down  the  colors  once,  when  I  saw  that 
they  would  be  taken  otherwise.  One  does  so 
hate  to  give  up  in  battle." 

Experience  nodded  approval.  Heaven  de- 
fend him  from  a  cowardly  son  !  Nelson  was 
improved  in  appearance — more  manly  and  self- 
reliant  ;  had  gained  a  decision  of  expression 
besides. 

"So  you  stormed  the  city?  Good!  I  like 
that." 

Nelson  described  thq  campaign  with  the 
truthfulness  of  an  eye-witness  and  the  enthu- 
siasm of  a  young  soldier.  Experience  Thome's 
face  kindled  as  he  listened.  Indeed,  so  ab- 
sorbed did  Nelson  become  in  tlie  gratification 
of  being  able  to  tell  his  father  any  thing,  and 
actu.ally  narrate  his  story  well,  that  he  nearly 
forgot  the  main  object  of  his  visit — to  describe 
liis  sojourn  in  the  old  house.  The  remem- 
brance now  flashed  back  upon  him,  witli  ten- 


fold interest,  as  he  sat  confronting  his  fatlier, 
the  harsh  features,  square  jaw,  and  keen  eyes 
straight  before  him. 

"There  is  something  else,  sir,  that  I  wish  to 
consult  you  about." 

Experience  Thorne  grew  thoughtful.  No\v 
the  resemblance  was  complete  to  the  old  man, 
who  stood  on  the  hearth,  musingly  slipping  the 
jewels  through  his  hands. 

"  IIow  extraordinary  !"  ejaculated  the  son, 
forgetting  that  his  father  had  no  possible  clue 
to  his  tlioughts.  "Have  we  relatives  of  tlu 
name  of  Goffe  ?" 

Experience  Thorne  sat  and  gazed  at  his  in- 
terlocutor, with  a  slightly  rigid  expression  of 
the  mouth  and  a  cold  surprise — gazed  so  stead- 
ily and  long  that  Nelson  felt  abashed  from  loni; 
habit  of  his  childhood. 

"Absurd  !  What  put  that  into  your  head  ? 
I'our  name  is  Thorne."  The  same  cold  sur- 
prise, but  a  suppressed  curiosity  nevertheless. 

"Of  course;  yet  ])eoplc  have  relatives  cf 
different  names." 

"True,  young  gentleman" — ever  so  slight  a 
sarcastic  emphasis  on  the  word  younrj.  "  Tell 
your  story,  and  do  not  make  it  a  serial,  I  beg, 
as  dinner-time  approaches." 

"  I  will  wait." 

"No."  He  leaned  his  elljow  on  the  table, 
and  supported  his  chin  in  his  palm,  as  if  to 
hold  the  stern  face  firm. 

"  To  abbreviate  a  long  story,  then,  I  have 
liad  a  curious  adventure.  After  one  of  our 
battles  I  found  a  wounded  man,  a  foreigner,  dy- 
ing, and  gave  him  water. 

"He  left  me  his  pocket-book,  and  bade  me 
keep  it  from  another  man  who  approached." 

"Who  was  tlie  other?"  interrupted  the  list- 
ener. 

"I  do  not  know.  A  Jew,  I  fancy.  Both 
were  Jews.     Tiie  book  had  neitlicr  name  nor 


llti 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW, 


address,  but  contained  a  letter  in  Danish.  I  '  fools  together,  lured  on  by  visions.  Bah ! 
had  to  get  it  translateil.  Tlic  letter  stated  Let  us  take  a  little  solid  food  after  so  much 
that  the  writer  was  searching  for  a  chain  stolen  '  imagination." 

from  his  grandfather  by  an  English  buccaneer  The  dilfcrence  between  Nelson  as  a  man 
who  boarded  the  vessel,  lie  strayed,  by  acci-  and  a  boy  was,  that  he  now  replied,  while  in 
dent,  to  a  deserted  house,  where  the  ghost  of  '  childhood  he  would  have  preserved  a  stubborn 
an  old  man  appeared  to  him,  holding  the  neck-  '  silence. 


lacc." 


"  No,  father,  you  are  mistaken.     Doubtless 


"Oh,  an  admirable  serial  story !  Did  I  not  ,  it  seems  less  tangible  to  you  than  to  us,  and 
tell  you  ?  Close  of  the  number,  apparition  of  altogether  borders  on  the  marvelous ;  but  the 
old  man  to  wandering  Jew — for  such  I  take    proof  of  reality  is  that  the  necklace  is  already 


your  hero  to  be — and  the  reading  public  left 
with  hair  standing  on  end.  I'ray  continue," 
said  E.xperience  Thorne,  mockingly. 

Nelson  looked  perplexed.  "I  should  think 
so  had  I  not  seen  for  myself.  We  are  apt  to 
believe  what  we  hear  and  see  ourselves." 

"Well,  what  have  you  seen?"'  asked  Expe- 
rience, steadily. 

"Father,  the  man  was  yourself,  only  older 
and  diflerent.  I  went  there  with  Nicholas 
Ilearn,  and  we  both  saw  him  holding  the  neck- 


restored  to  the  rightful  owner,  and  the  husband 
at  the  same  time  found.  He  was  living  on 
the  spot.      It  is  all  the  providence  of  God." 

Experience  Thorne  gave  his  son  the  most 
peculiar  look,  and  repeated,  slowly,  "The  prov- 
idence of  God  I"' 

No  further  reference  was  made  to  the  sub- 
ject. Nelson  was  disappointed,  until  he  re- 
Hected  that  he  might  have  been  carried  away 
by  a  foolish  ardor,  and  had  best  be  sobered. 

Was  it  a  dream,  that  his  father  stood  by  his 


lace,  which   we   afterward   found    behind   the    bed  in  the  night  ?     Did  he  speak,  still  com- 
clock  case.     I   forgot;    the  Jew  wrote  in  his  i  posed,  yet  with  the  unwilling  aspect  of  a  per- 


letter  that  he  discovered  a  cigar-box,  with  the 
name  of  Frederick  AYilliam  Gotfc  inscribed  on 
it,  which  aroused  his  scent.  This  would  have 
no  interest  to  us  had  the  ghost  not  been  yov, 
and  I  spoke,  thinking  it  was  you." 

"What  did  he  say?"  inquired  the  father, 
composedly,  but  with  bloodless  lips. 

"  Nothing.  I  cut  the  picture  from  the 
frame,  and  kept  this  book — the  log  of  a  pirate, 
I  think." 

He  unrolled  the  canvas,  spread  it  on  tlic  ta- 
ble ;  and  it  was  as  if  Experience  Thorne  looked 
into  his  own  mirrored  face. 

"A  likeness,  surely.  Give  me  the  book. 
You  seem  determined  to  claim  relationship 
with  a  pirate." 

"Heaven  forbid!  we  spring  from  honest 
men." 

"  Where  is  the  necklace  ?" 

"Gone  to  the  owner,  Mrs.  Hearn.  True,  I 
never  told  you.  A  pendant,  precisely  like  the 
one  you  gave  me,  descended  to  her  from  her 
grandfather,  a  captain  in  the  mcrcliant  service 
of  Great  Britain." 

"Why  did  I  never  hear  tliis  before?"  thun- 
dered the  father,  with  an  imperious  gesture. 

"  Because  the  sul)jcct  seemed  a  disagreeable 
one,"  replied  the  son,  quietly.  A  more  fitting 
response  might  have  been  tliiit  the  parent, 
stern  and  self-contained,  never  encouraged 
confidence. 

''And  is  this  your  story  ?  A  pretty  tale, 
truly.     The  invention  of  fools.     A  pack  of 


son  forced  to  confession  ? 

"It  is  the  providence  of  God,  my  son.  If 
the  secret  of  such  a  life  is  buried  fathoms  deep 
in  death,  it  will  appear  to  curse  future  genera- 
tions. The  justice  of. Heaven  demands  that 
such  a  man's  children  should  sufier  for  the 
wrongs  he  has  he.aped  on  the  innocent  and 
helpless.  I  have  kept  it  from  you,  but  it  is 
right  you  should  know,  since  he  would  rise  from 
the  grave  to  tell  you.  Jly  father  was  a  buc- 
caneer. He  never  revealed  to  me  his  past  life, 
nor  did  his  neighbors  know  more.  I  was  born 
in  a  handsome  house  in  this  city,  when  he  was 
a  mature  man.  There  was  a  certain  amount 
of  mystery  about  him,  which  he  successfully 
lived  down.  During  the  first  five  years  of  his 
residence  here,  he  was  never  known  to  have 
received  a  single  letter,  which  marked  him  a 
stranger  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  His  in- 
creasing popularity  grew  out  of  two  excellent 
sources  :  he  was  rich,  and  he  gave  largely  to 
charity.  I  was  carefully  educated,  but  there 
were  no  bounds  to  the  sinful  extravagance  of 
my  youth.  I  ran  completely  through  the  gam- 
ut of  pleasure;  as  I  boastfully  termed  it,  nor 
did  my  father  severely  rc]Mimand  me.  He 
watched  me  with  a  species  of  morbid  despair, 
which  I  can  now  understand,  but  was  too 
heedless  to  note  at  the  time.  He  saw  in  me 
the  reproduction  of  his  own  violent  youth,  and 
was  hopeless  of  my  being  better.  I  was  afraid 
of  my  father,  except  when  nerved  to  audacity 
by  wine.     He  was  a  sinister  man  to  dwell  with  ; 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


117 


there  was  something  restless  and  stealtliy  about 
him.  His  moods  were  rcguhir  as  the  recurring 
seasons.  During  the  autumn  he  was  quiet, 
interested  in  the  daily  routine  of  a  city's  busi- 
ness hfe,  i)rojectL'd  improvements  with  liis 
neighbors,  sought  libraries  and  museums.  To- 
ward spring  he  became  irritable,  and  his  family 
knew  that  the  dark  fit  was  coming  on  him, 
which  would  last  the  summer.  He  scarcely 
ate  or  drank  ;  he  paced  the  room  all  night ;  he 
seldom  slept  in  his  bed,  but  had  an  arm-chair 
])laced  where  he  caught  a  feverish  doze,  from 
which  he  awakened  with  horrors  more  terrible 
than  those  of  IJiohard  III.  All  day  he  walked 
like  a  man  possessed,  or  rode  miles  on  horse- 
back, and  never  a  beggar  crossed  his  path  that 
he  did  not  give  liberal  alms.  At  night  he 
would  sometimes  return  exhausted  beyond 
power  of  speech. 

"  Often  he  went  on  long  journeys  in  these 
moods,  and  none  ventured  to  question  him.  I 
was  obliged  to  invent  excuses  for  his  prolong- 
ed absence  to  inquiring  acquaintances.  I  be- 
lieve that  he  visited  some  spot  in  the  far  South, 
which  possessed  a  peculiar  attraction  to  him. 
I  have  never  learned  where  this  place  was ;  I 
was  warned  that  I  would  do  so  at  my  peril.  I 
grew  to  manhood,  a  striking  likeness  of  my 
father ;  but  he  must  have  been  a  very  old  man 
when  I  reached  my  prime,  although  no  one 
knew  his  exact  age.  With  increasing  years 
his  dark  fits  became  more  firmly  seated.  I 
came  to  consider  them  periodical  attacks  of 
madness.  I  now  believe  them  to  have  been 
the  tortures  of  remorse  for  a  monstrous  deed 
committed  at  that  time  of  year  when  the  fresh 
verdure  of  spring  brought  remembrance.  One 
year  he  departed  and  wrote  me  a  singular, 
rambling  letter,  which  showed  his  mind  to  be 
unhinged,  and  threatened  vaguely  suicide.  He 
told  me  a  hangman  had  tracked  him  for  years, 
and  he  feared  the  pursuer  was  about  to  over- 
take him.  He  also  bade  me  find  his  will  in 
his  secretary,  in  event  of  his  death,  and  forbade 
my  searching  for  him,  as  my  own  good  name 
would  suffer. 

"  The  letter  sobered  me  ;  I  ceased  to  game 
and  drink  in  the  suspense  of  waiting.  IMy 
father  never  returned.  I  opened  the  drawer, 
and  found  not  only  the  will,  but  a  letter  telling 
me  who  I  was.  Unlimited  command  of  the 
wealth  foully  amassed  was  accorded  me.  I 
was  bidden  to  enjoy  it,  make  the  most  of  it ; 
and  no  hope  was  expressed  of  my  living  other 
than  as  I  had  lived,  or  not  perisliing  at  the  end, 
as  swine  perish.  So  little  did  my  father  value 
the  mercy  of  Christ  and  the  glories  of  eternity. 


"This  letter  was  like  the  hish  of  a  whip 
across  my  face.  I  reformed.  I  became  con- 
verted ;  I  was  received  into  the  communion  of 
Christian  people.  !My  desire  to  bear  a  respect- 
able, honored  name  was  deeply  wounded  by 
the  discovery  of  my  father's  character.  I  firm- 
ly resolved  never  to  marry,  to  let  our  race  per- 
ish, striving  to  build  up  such  a  memorial  as  I 
could  by  real  worth.  I  was  eight-and-forty 
years  of  age  when  I  met  your  mother,  and  one 
glimpse  of  her  sweet  fiicc  dispelled  my  wisest 
resolution.  She  consented  to  marry  me  ;  but, 
as  she  belonged  to  a  very  good  family,  I  did 
not  venture  to  disclose  my  own  origin.  I  was 
afraid  of  losing  the  one  pure  influence  my  lot 
had  known.  After  you  were  born  she  discov- 
ered the  truth  with  her  quick  woman's  instinct. 
I  was  ill,  and  she  had  access  to  my  papers. 
She  also  found  the  pendant  you  have,  which 
she  insisted  on  keeping.  She  forgave  me,  but 
the  shadow  fell  on  her  spirit.  The  shock  of 
the  revelation  seemed  not  so  much  to  wound 
her  family  pride,  or  mar  her  affection  for  me, 
as  to  make  her  watch  with  dread  for  the  up- 
springing  of  a  poison  jilant  in  our  household, 
nurtured  into  sudden  growth  by  some  passion 
from  the  parent  root — my  father.  She  regard- 
ed me  timidly,  at  times,  as  if  I  could  have 
harmed  a  hair  of  her  gentle  head,  and  she 
guarded  you  with  constant  prayers.  She  im- 
plored me  to  give  up  the  money,  and  I  loved 
it,  stained  though  it  was  with  crime.  I  reason- 
ed that  I  would  do  good,  but  I  also  intended 
to  enjoy  it  while  I  lived.  Your  mother  made 
me  promise  to  place  it  on  the  altar  of  repent- 
ance, to  build  some  worthy  charity." 

"Oh,  father!  Not  the  Orphans'  Home?" 
said  Nelson,  a  sudden  light  breaking  in  upon 
him. 

"  Yes.  I  lost  my  fortune  in  a  speculation 
about  the  time  the  Orphans'  Home  was  anony- 
mously built  and  endowed.  I,  a  rash  specula- 
tor," said  Experience  Thorne,  scornfulh'. 

The  sacrifice  had  not  been  made  without  a 
struggle.  There  was  every  inducement  for  him 
to  retain  the  money.  He  had  not  sinfully  ac- 
quired it,  and  he  had  a  son  growing  up  to  pro- 
vide for  in  life  ;  yet  the  Orphans'  Home  was 
built,  and  Experience  Thorne  left  a  poor  man. 

"The  task  of  educating  you  devolved  on  me 
after  her  death.  I  strove  to  eliminate  all  de- 
velopment in  your  youth  of  those  traits  which 
so  nearly  ruined  my  own,  and  I  have  endeavor- 
ed to  lead  you  to  accept  that  anchor  of  faith, 
religion,  which  alone  prevented  my  being  my 
father  over  again." 

"You  never  could  have  been  that,"  said  Nel- 


118 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


son,  toiiclicd  liy  tlic  gray  face,  which  revealed 
deep  lines  of  concentiatcd  purpose  and  brood- 
ing regret  in  the  candle-light. 

"  I  am  the  same  nature,  curbed  by  society, 
modified  by  a  spiritual  f.iith.  The  flame  is 
smothered,  yet  tlic  volcano  rages  at  heart.  I 
liave  the  periods  of  restlessness  which  in  my 
father  were  remorse.  And  my  thoughts  are 
very  dark  at  times.  You  arc  my  son  ;  I  trust 
you.  I  would  submit  to  the  rack  sooner  than 
tell  this  to  another.     Time  must  develop  your 


worth,  if  you  have  any.  •  You  are  difTerent  in 
temperament  and  nature — more  like  your  moth- 
er. That  may  save  you.  I  wish  you  had  mar- 
ried that  girl ;  it  would  have  been  the  making 
of  you.  If  you  do  not  prove  an  honest,  up- 
right man,  I  believe  your  mother  will  weep  over 
your  downfall,  among  the  angels  of  heaven." 

Experience  Thorne,  wrapped  in  his  dressing- 
gown,  tall  and  gaunt,  went  away,  the  candle 
flaring  and  expiring  in  the  socket. 

It  was  not  a  dream,  after  all. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


THE   COU>'TESS   GUAIIADINI. 


"  TT  is  delightful  to  be  home  again," said  the 

X  Countess  Guaradiiii,  witli  a  sigh  of  satis- 
faction. 

"And  yet  you  went  away  voluntarily,"  ob- 
served Ethel. 

"The  OKI  World  claimed  her,"  said  Mr. 
Baines. 

Although  Ethel  still  smiled,  it  just  occurred 
to  her  that  the  Old  World  had  not  made  much 
of  a  bargain,  and  such  gallantry  on  her  hus- 
band's part  was  slightly  ridiculous. 

"This  naughty  gentleman  is  responsible," 
replied  the  countess,  extending  a  pretty  hand, 
sparkling  with  rings,  to  the  count. 

Thus  addressed,  the  count  rose  from  his 
chair,  with  elaborate  politeness,  touched  the  lit- 
tle hand  wiili  liis  grizzled  mustache,  and  mur- 
mured, 

"  Mon  angc-y 

Mr.  Haines's  lip  curled  slightly. 

"I  forget!  Hester  detests  sentiment.  It 
docs  not  mean  much  with  us,  ma  cli'ere.  I 
have  overcome  my  earlier  gaucherie  by  ex- 
perience, and  learned  not  to  accept  in  sober 
earnest  every  pretty  speech  made  by  a  Euro- 
pean, as  so  many  American  girls  do.  There 
is  a  wide  diftercnce  between  courtesy  and  love- 
making." 

"Are  you  no  longer  an  American,  that  you 
dwell  60  gravely  on  our  faults?"  in(iuired  Miss 
Haines. 

The  countess  laughed,  a  little,  ri'jjding  laugh, 
like  the  tinkle  of  silver  bells ;  it  brouglit  the 
blood  to  Mr.  Kaines's  cheek  as  he  listened. 

"  My  dear  Hester,  I  scarcely  know  what  I 
am,  unless  it  is  a  chameleon.     At  Paris,  I  am 


a  true  Parisian ;  at  Vienna,  the  most  reckless 
pleasure-seeker ;  at  Eome,  the  Holy  Father's 
most  dutiful  daughter.  Did  you  not  know  that 
I  had  become  converted  ?  Of  course.  It  was 
Paolo's  wish.  "We  Guaradinis  have  been  Catli- 
olic  for  generations.  2^icns!  All  tilings  to  all 
men.  Tiie  monkey  is  not  more  imitative  tlian 
I  am.  I  like  to  assume  and  discard  a  nation- 
ality like  a  glove." 

Again  tlie  light  laugh  floated  iiuisically 
through  the  room,  and  the  countess  watched 
John  liaines  with  half-closed  eyes. 

"Qu'elle  est  spirituelle,"  icmaTked  the  count 
to  Ethel.  Miss  liaines  was  unsympathetic  ; 
showed  a  certain  degree  of  dislike  to  the  guest 
altogether.  Madame  la  comtesse  was  well 
aware  of  this  aversion,  but  she  did  not  permit 
it  to  disturb  her.  To  be  disliked  by  a  woman 
is  to  be  feared,  was  her  creed. 

Time,  twelve  o'clock  in  the  day.  Place,  Mr. 
Raines's  city  house.  Dramatis  persona; :  Count 
Guaradini,  the  Countess  Guaradini,  Jlr.  Raines, 
wife,  and  sister. 

Ten  years  before,  Hortcnse  Raines,  orphan 
and  heiress,  had  become  the  Countess  Guara- 
dini, instead  of  marrying  in  her  own  country. 
The  reason  was  obvious:  she  gained  a  title, 
jiosition,  and  eclat  by  the  match.  Dear  to  our 
republican  American  heart  is  a  position  at 
court.  ]\Ioreover,  this  step  taken  by  Hortcnse 
Raines  was  the  fruit  of  family  doctrine,  of  En- 
glisli  ancestry  ;  the  race  still  clung  to  tlie  moth- 
er country,  and  Jlr.  Raines  was  more  apt  to 
boast  of  his  English  origin  than  his  present 
American  citizenship.  This  made  him  an  echo 
rather  timn  a  primitive  force.     It  is  all  very 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


119 


well  to  present  to  a.  young  country  the  advance- 
ment of  another  older  in  civilization,  if  tiie 
comparison  tends  to  modify  a  thousand  crudi- 
ties incident  to  growth  ;  but  good  is  seldom 
acconiplislied  by  passive  disapproval  like  tiiat 
of  John  Kaines.  He  wished  parks  and  entail- 
ed estates,  and  the  dillerencc  of  class  more 
distinctly  defined,  in  a  land  where  nature  has 
furnished  boundless  parks,  and  planned  work 
for  every  one  of  lier  toiling  sons.  IMr.  Raines 
had  much  leisure  in  which  to  consider  these 
short-comings  ;  indeed,  he  enjoyed  that  rare 
boon  of  idleness,  to  possess  which  a  man  in- 
evitably deteriorates,  if  he  docs  not  find  re- 
source in  philanthropy  or  study.  Fortunate- 
ly the  instrument  was  not  tuneless  ;  he  spent 
much  time  among  his  books,  was  an  excel- 
lent linguist,  sketched  admirably,  wrote  a  son- 
net on  occasion.  And  the  instrument  gave 
forth  a  full,  rich  chord  of  true  manhood  when 
need  came :  a  war  found  him  in  the  field  of 
active  usefulness.  If  it  were  possible  for  a  gen- 
tleman to  be  out  of  place,  John  Raines  seemed 
to  have  been  born  on  the  wrong  shore  of  the 
ocean.  He  disdained  to  meddle  with  affairs, 
where  Lis  influence  might  have  had  weight, 
because  he  disliked  publicity.  He  concealed 
vigor  of  mind  and  generosity  of  disposition  un- 
der an  habitual  disguise  of  indift'erence  and 
occasional  cold  sarcasm.  The  good  his  right 
hand  did  in  the  world,  remained  unknown  to 
his  left  hand ;  his  dread  of  ostentation  and 
hypocrisy  was  morbid.  Few  persons  really 
knew  him,  because  he  liked  to  baffle  penetra- 
tion ;  none  so  readily  as  his  cousin  Hortense. 

A  small,  vivacious  woman,  with  large,  lumi- 
nous black  eyes,  thin  face,  which  kindled  with 
excitement,  and  always  in  perfect  taste  with 
her  surroundings.  As  a  girl,  noted  for  her  ca- 
prices and  oddity  ;  now,  graceful  and  well-bred, 
her  wardrobe  a  marvel  of  French  art. 

The  count  was  a  very  nice  old  gentleman  in- 
deed, having  pendulous  cheeks,  shrewd,  twink- 
ling eyes,  a  portly  person,  and  white,  fat  hands. 
What  the  mysteries  of  his  toilet  were  his  valet 
alone  knew.  There  might  be  a  suspicion  of 
rouge  beneath  the  eyes,  there  might  be  agonies 
of  gout  and  rheumatism  endured  in  silence,  re- 
quiring prolonged  sojourns  at  various  German 
spas,  where  madame  strolled,  surrounded  by 
hosts  of  admirers.  Rumor  hinted  that  a  very 
different  old  man,  in  dressing-gown  and  smok- 
ing-cap,  dwelt  in  the  count's  apartments  from 


cr  interfered  with  her  little  pleasures,  but  play- 
ed w  ith  his  pet  dog  in  retirement,  when  not  re- 
quired to  attend  his  sovereign,  wearing  many 
foreign  orders  on  his  breast.  Nothing  could 
have  been  more  appropriate.  The  count  en- 
dowed Hortense  with  an  illustrious  name,  a 
crumbling  castle,  and  accepted  in  return  a 
youthful  bride,  and  an  ample  fortune  with 
which  to  render  his  declining  years  comforta- 
ble. And  now  the  countess  had  returned  to 
her  native  land  to  receive  the  homage  due  to 
her  success. 

Ethel  was  satisfied  with  her  life.  By  nature 
she  was  receptive  of  surrounding  influences, 
and  there  was  little  danger  of  her  making 
blunders  in  her  new  position,  with  Miss  Raines 
in  the  background. 

"  My  sister  is  as  much  in  love  with  my  wife 
as  I  am,"  John  Raines  would  say,  and  Hester 
would  nod  a  gentle  assent.  The  marriage  was 
a  nine  days'  wonder.  Who  was  the  bride? 
None  of  his  friends  had  ever  heard  of  her, 
and  John  Raines  had  been  abandoned  as  a 
confirmed  bachelor.  Then  Mr.  Ricliard  Hearn 
stepped  to  the  front  ranks,  and  claimed  a.  niece 
in  the  bride,  with  no  small  satisfaction.  And 
Hester  Raines,  watching  it  all,  reflected  that 
it  was  her  own  work.  Had  she  desired  to 
thwart  the  union,  she  could  have  done  so. 
John  should  have  a.  lovely  wife,  and  Ethel  be, 
also,  well  provided  for. 

"I  am  afraid!"  the  girl  exclaimed,  with 
sudden  terror,  clinging  to  her  friend. 

"Hush!  I  am  here  to  take  care  of  you,'' 
she  returned. 

Thus,  in  the  early  days  of  married  life,  Ethel 
depended  on  IMiss  Raines  more  tlian  her  hus- 
band. 

John  Raines  was  a  very  contented  man, 
scarcely  re-instated  on  his  former  standing  of 
cool  composure,  and  apt  to  commit  extrava- 
gances over  which  his  sister  quietly  smiled. 
The  novelty  of  having  a  wife  was  an  intoxica- 
tion to  which  he  had  not  yet  become  sedately 
accustomed.  Ethel  was  an  inexhaustible  va- 
riety of  mood  and  thought  to  his  life,  for  slie 
never  ceased  to  practice  the  power  of  captiva- 
tion  on  her  husband.  These  very  arts  might 
be  diverted  into  more  dangerous  channels  latei\ 
as  seeking  the  admiration  of  others  ;  but  now 
they  sufficed  to  fascinate  him  alone. 

Mrs.  Raines  tasted  of  pleasure  with  the  zest 
of  a  novice,  and  became  the  fashion.     As  a 


the  gentleman  who  afterward  issued  forth,  but  j  married  lady  she  received  the  tribute  of  adnii- 
rumor  is  seldom  reliable.     It  may  also  have  j  ration  which  would  never  have  been  accorded 
been  known  to  the  discreet  valet  that  the  count    her  as  a  young  lady, 
treated  madame  with  marked  respect,  and  nev-        There  was  to  be  a  ball  in  tlie  evening,  partly 


120 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


in  honor  of  the  countess,  and  also  to  gratify 
Etliel,  who  had  heen  promised  siicli  an  enter- 
tainment on  her  birtliday. 

The  countess  swept  down  stairs  in  tlic  most 
exquisite  of  toilets,  mauve  tinted,  dc'cotlctif 
quite  u  la  mode,  and  diamonds  wreatiicd  in  her 
dark  hair. 

Tiie  interest  niani Jested  by  Miss  Kaines 
in  Ethel's  appearance  amounted  to  mania. 
•'Thank  Heaven  there  is  such  a  possibility  as 
a  woman's  being  beautiful  and  modest  also,'' 
she  said,  assisting  the  maid  to  spread  Ethel's 
gossamer  draperies. 

"How  much  you  care  fur  my  hajipinessl" 
exclaimed  Ethel,  kissing  her  imi)ulsively. 

"Am  I  really  good  to  you  ?"  questioned  Miss 
IJaines,  anxiously. 

"  No  one  could  be  more  kind." 

The  luxury  of  wearing  rich  dress  had  not 
lost  its  freshness  for  the  young  wife  ;  she  rev- 
eled in  her  new  existence.  She  was  always 
sweet-tempered  from  her  verysatisfiietion  in  sur- 
veying her  possessions.  Husband,  lovely  baby. 
Miss  Itaines,  the  house,  all  belonged  to  her,  and 
tiie  thouglit  brought  exultation.  She  surveyed 
herself  with  childish  satisfaction.  Miss  Raines 
iiad  insisted  on  a  style  of  costume,  a  shade  of 
color  which  the  countess  would  never  venture 
to  assume.  Ethel,  the  slender,  pure  blonde, 
could  robe  herself  in  pale  sea-foam  green  ; 
Madame  la  comtesse,  petite  and  dark,  would 
never  take  such  a  liberty  with  her  complexion. 
Miss  liaines  looped  her  own  pearls  in  the  gold 
hair  about  the  white  throat,  and  the  result  sat- 
isfied her. 

"  Go  and  display  yourself  to  John." 

"Oh  yes,  I  am  going.  If  baby  was  only 
awake  I  Hester,  I  should  like  him  to  remem- 
ber me  like  this  when  I  get  to  be  old." 

"Do  not  allow  bal)y  to  usurp  the  father's 
first  place." 

"He  receives  sufficient  attention,"  respond- 
ed Ethel,  merrily,  and,  gathering  up  her  dainty 
skirts,  went. 

"  She  knows  very  little,"  sighed  Miss  Raines. 

Ethel  tnpj)ed  into  the  library  confident  of 
praise.  There  stood  the  countess  and  Mr. 
Raines  in  earnest,  low-toned  conversation. 
The  lady  looked  pensive  ;  she  was  arousing 
her  cousin's  symjiathy.  She  had  unclasped  a 
superb  bracelet,  gift  of  royalty,  to  show  him, 
and  was  permitting  him  to  refasten  it  on  the 
delicately  rounded  arm. 

"  Gratifying  as  such  notice  is,  one  can  only 
be  sure  of  true  hearts  at  home.  John,  do  you 
remember  the  gold  linked  bracelet  you  gave 
me  at  sixteen  ?     I  have  it  still."    Then  almost 


in  a  whisper,  with  musing,  downcast  eyes — 
"What  mistakes  we  make  I" 

"  Good  my  lord,  will  I  do  ?  '  chimed  in  a 
clear  voice.  Ethel  had  floated  uj)  in  her  re- 
sj)lendent  finery. 

"Well  done,  my  beauty,"  Mr.  Raines  said, 
with  unfeigned  admiration. 

A  sallow  tinge  crept  into  the  countess's  check. 
Time  had  been  when  John  Raines  had  no  eyes 
for  any  one  but  herself.  Was  it  possible  that 
she  had  had  her  day  ?  She  liad  not  antici- 
pated his  marrying  a  mere  girl. 

"  How  beautiful !   such  a  trying  color,  too." 

Ethel  was  almost  melted  by  this  ingenuous 
flattery,  then  a  sharp  doubt  returned.  What 
right  had  she  to  claim  Mr.  Raines's  attention 
so  exclusively  ? 

"As  for  Prince ,"  pursued  the  countess, 

resuming  the  thread  of  talk,  and  ignoring  Eth- 
el.    The  latter  turned  away. 

"Arc  you  going?"  asked  the  husband. 

"  I  do  not  suppose  our  appreciation  is  suffi- 
cient," said  the  countess,  sweetly,  the  words 
conveying  an  indefinable  sting. 

Ethel  roamed  through  the  large  parlors,  look- 
ing at  her  reflection  in  the  successive  mirrors. 
The  atmosphere  was  heavy  with  the  perfume 
of  flowers,  massed  in  large  vases,  screening  al- 
coves, waving  in  delicate  tendrils  about  pic- 
tures, while  a  mellow  light  was  shed  from 
myriads  of  wax-candles  above.  The  rooms 
seemed  strangely  deserted  in  that  brilliant  si- 
lence which  woidd  soon  be  disturbed  by  the 
hum  of  voices,  the  rustling  of  moving  forms, 
the  shimmer  of  rain-bow  colors,  the  rich  folds 
of  velvet  and  satin,  the  transparent  frost-work 
of  lace.  Ethel  wished  that  her  husband  was 
with  her.  She  was  used  to  his  judgment. 
She  must  peep  into  the  library  once  more. 
What  could  they  be  talking  about  ?  The  li- 
brary was  vacant,  but  the  cousins  were  pacing 
the  dimly  lighted  conservatory  beyond.  The 
sight  struck  Ethel  like  a  blow.  She  flew  up 
stairs,  and  confronted  Miss  Raines. 

"What  does  it  all  mean?  Tell  me.  You 
must  know." 

Miss  Raines  shrank  from  the  blanched  face. 

"  Can  you  not  hold  your  own  against  a  sly, 
spiteful,  passtS  belle  ?  You  are  young,  beauti- 
ful, and  his  wife." 

"  No,"  said  Ethel  Hearn,  solemnly.  "  I  can 
not  hold  my  own  against  a  sly  woman,  because 
I  would  scorn  to  measure  weapons  with  her. 
What  do  you  all  take  me  for?  Let  him  go.  I 
still  have  my  child." 

But  the  next  moment  the  exquisite  dress 
went  down  in  a  heap,  and  Ethel  wailed ; 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW, 


121 


"  Oh,  motlicr,  mother,  where  are  you  ?"  To 
be  again  in  the  little  house  by  the  sea,  com- 
forted by  those  who  loved  her  I     Only  that ! 

"I  do  not  deserve  this.  I  have  tried  to 
make  you  happy,"  said  ^liss  Kaines,  in  an  ag- 
grieved tone. 

"So  you  do,"  assented  Ethel,  lifting  a  tear- 
stained  fiice.  "What  do  you  expect  of  me  in 
return  ?     You  must  have  some  motive." 

Here  were  the  elder  woman's  teacliings  flung 
back  at  her.  She  was  aghast.  Ethel  never 
used  to  question  motives  in  her  days  of  i)0v- 
erty. 

"Let  me  hear  the  truth.     I  can  bear  it." 

"John  loved  her  many  years  ago,  before  slic 
married,  and  she  played  with  him.  I  never  was 
able  to  sec  much  in  her.  I  hoped  he  had  for- 
gotten. She  is  worthless  compared  with  you. 
Ethel,  do  not  let. her  triumph.  He  has  been 
kind  to  you,  and  is  really  fond  of  you." 

If  ever  the  pride  of  Ethel  Hearn  was  tram- 
pled in  the  dust,  it  was  when  this  astounding 
fact  was  presented  to  her.  Mr.  Raines  was 
quite  fond  of  her,  then  ?  He  loved  the  little, 
sallow  woman  with  a  title.  But  the  little  wom- 
an had  not  always  been  sallow,  and  young  men 
make  divinities  of  shallow  goddesses  some- 
times, aided  by  the  fire  of  tlieir  own  imagina- 
tion, especially  when  they  do  not  marry  the 
divinity.  Thus  had  Ethel  built  her  house  on 
the  sand. 

"  Did  you  know  that  she  was  coming  home  ?" 

"Yes.  You  would  have  married  him  just 
the  same,  would  you  not  ?" 

The  girl  made  no  reply.  She  arose,  smooth- 
ed her  dress,  carefully  re-arranged  every  leaf 
and  flower  in  her  hair,  sought  out  a  box  of 
Parisian  cosmetics,  and  deliberately  tinted  her 
])ale  cheeks.  Miss  Raines  could  not  recognize 
her  in  this  mood.  Then  Ethel  went  to  the 
baby's  cradle,  a  soft  nest  of  down,  where  a  tiny, 
blooming  face  was  hidden  among  the  cover- 
ings. She  did  not  stoop  to  kiss  the  little  sleep- 
er, for  fear  that  she  should  lose  all  fortitude. 

"Are  you  ready  to  go  down  ?"  she  inquired, 
calmly. 

"Miss  Raines,  with  wrath  in  her  heart,  sought 
the  conservatory,  and  was  provokingly  obtuse 
to  any  perception  of  being  de  trop.  She  found 
her  opportunity. 

"If  you  are  going  to  allow  the  woman  who 
jilted  you  for  a  wreck  of  a  diplomat,  to  ruin 
all  our  happiness,  at  least  save  appearances  to- 
night at  Ethel's  ball ;  I  can  not  understand  it ! 
The  worse  a  woman  is  hackneyed  by  a  thou- 
sand flirtations,  the  more  fascinating  slic  be- 
comes to  good  men." 


"You  never  did  Hurtcnse  justice,"  replied 
Mr.  Raines. 

"Justice!"  sneered  the  sister.  "Blind  your- 
self to  the  folly  of  the  hour  as  you  ^^•ill." 

What  a  stilf  old  nuiid  Hester  was  becoming. 
He  must  be  additionally  attentive  to  their 
guest  to  cover  this  aversion,  Mr.  Raines  had 
the  largest  chanty  for  the  Countess  Guaradini, 
the  spoiled  child  of  wealth,  with  many  caprices 
and  follies,  yet  really  good  at  heart.  She  al- 
ways had  dealt  to  him  a  subtle  flattery,  with 
some  sincere  aflection  in  much  alloy,  and  Mr. 
Raines  was  no  more  imperviousto  aj)preciation 
than  most  men.  He  laughed  to  scorn  his  sis- 
ter's aspersions ;  his  footing  was  secure.  Poor 
little  cousin  !  she  fancied  she  had  done  such  a 
brilliant  thing,  and  this  was  the  result,  a  selfish, 
unsympathetic  husband.  Tears  had  been  shed 
in  the  conservatory,  and  there  was  no  remedy 
now.  The  ball  was  a  delightful  afl'air,  society 
said,  and  young  Mrs.  Raines  received  well.  So- 
ciety worshiped  at  the  shrine  of  the  countess, 
erewhile  "our  Hortense  Raines,  you  know;" 
but,  as  far  as  beauty  went,  Ethel  bore  off 
the  palm.  Young  men,  slim,  elegant,  wear- 
ing the  inevitable  button-hole  bouquet,  eacli  a 
counterpart  of  the  other,  and  all  with  a  faint 
Parisian  flavor,  flocked  by  dozens  to  her  stand- 
ard. Did  she  like  the  opera  Thursday  night? 
Would  she  summer  at  home  or  on  the  Conti- 
nent ?  It  Avas  slow  at  our  watering-places 
now.  There  was  a  fierce  pain- in  Ethel's  heart 
as  she  mentally  questioned  them,  "  Could  you 
prefer  that  woman  to  me  ?" 

The  young  men  voted  her  "stunning,"  and 
she  enjoyed  the  paltry  triumph.  She  was 
studiously,  coldly  polite  to  her  husband,  no  per- 
son could  have  detected  a  change  ;  even  the 
countess,  watching  with  glistening  eyes,  found 
no  flaw.  But  Mr.  Raines  was  aware  of  a  diff'er- 
ence.  Once  he  asked,  "  How  have  I  oflended 
you?"  Ethel's  heart  swelled  proudly.  "Go 
aAvay,"  she  entreated.  Her  gaze  had  uncon- 
sciously alighted  on  a  blonde  gentleman  mak- 
ing a  passage  in  a  leisurely  fashion  through  the 
crowd,  with  his  wife  on  his  arm.  The  color 
glowed  vividly  in  her  cheeks,  she  drew  herself 
erect,  strengthened  her  armor  for  the  interview. 
It  was  Captain  Lacer,  and  Ethel  had  not  seen 
him  since  her  marriage. 

Clara  Hearn  appeared  well  and  happy,  while 
the  captain  had  acquired  a  wrinkle  in  liis 
smooth  forehead. 

"Behold  !"  said  the  count  to  Mr.  Raines, 
rolling  up  his  eyes  with  such  rapture  as  one 
would  suppose  only  some  delicate  gastronom- 
ical  sensation  might  have  produced.      "  Such 


i: 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


hair!  Ah,  cidi  such  a  skin,  and  the  expres- 
sion of  a  Madonna.  Jly  friend,  you  are  in- 
deed blessed." 

The  count,  a  great  admirer  of  female  beauty, 
was  criticising  Ethel.  Tlie  countess  Lit  her 
lips,  with  positive  j)ain,  that  John  Haines  cotdd 
thus  forget  her. 

"  Your  stepbrother  seems  to  be  an  old 
friend.  How  cordially  she  welcomes  him. 
Ah,  it  is  such  a  pleasure  for  us  ])oor  women  to 
be  cordially  glad  to  meet  a  friend  after  all  the 
mummery." 

Furthwitii  Jolin  Ivaincs  fell  to  observing  the 
interview  between  Ca])tain  Lacer  and  his  wife. 
Aware  of  this  fact,  Ethel,  possessed  by  some 
imp  of  perversity,  sparkled  into  positive  brill- 
iancy. 

*'  If  I  could  only  make  her  angry,"  murmured 
the  countess  to  her  fon,  and  the  costly  lace  toy 
may  have  been  the  recipient  of  many  similar 
secrets. 

Mrs.  Raines,  the  elder,  greeted  Etliel  with 
the  slightest  ])0ssible  shade  of  superciliousness. 
She  wondered  Hi  John.  Here  was  tiie  girl 
who  had  sung  in  the  choir,  elevated  above  her. 
Mr.  and  3Irs.  Hearn  were  late,  but  who  so  at- 
tentive to  their  niece  ? 

"  How  is  the  darling  baby  ?  You  must  find 
time  to  send  him  around  some  morning.  Can 
yon  luncli  with  us  Wednesday  ?  quite  an  infor- 
mal family  affair."  This  from  IMrs.  Ilcarn,  in 
purple  moire  and  diamonds. 

"JIow  is  your  mother,  Ethel  ?  Have  you 
heard  recently  ?"  This  from  Kichard  Ilearn, 
pink  and  fresh  as  ever.  And  Ethel  resjiondcd 
in  kind,  because  it  would  look  strange  if  she 
did  not.  Her  heart  sickened  at  her  uncle's 
amiable  inquiries.  Seldom  would  the  moth- 
er's health  have  awakened  solicitude  had  the 
daughter  not  have  been  Jlrs.  Kaines.  Then  it 
darted  through  her  brain  like  a  spasm  that  she 
had  not  heard  from  home  for  three  weeks,  and 
had  not  written.  The  poor  mother!  The  poor 
little  sister!  How  was  she  treating  them? 
They  had  only  seen  baby  once.  A  cloud  of 
recollections  rolled  over  her  soul,  obliterating 
tlie  present  scene.  She  forgot  the  countess. 
She  forgot  her  own  fancied  exaltation.  Tlie 
musicians  were  playing  the  same  gay  waltz 
which  had  floated  out  on  the  evening  air  to 
the  listening  sisters.  She  had  gained  what 
she  then  longed  for,  and  how  had  slie  used  her 
prosperity  ?  By  neglecting  the  mother  and 
sister  of  her  youth.  Yes,  slighting  them,  grow- 
ing apart,  ever  so  trifling  a  degree  at  a  timj, 
until  her  own  conscience  could  measure  the 
c!iasm.     Could  heaven  or  earth  have  believed 


;  that  she  would  be  guilty  of  such  wrong?  She 
,  was  Uncle  Hearn  over  again.  A  great  ter- 
ror of  herself  pressed  on  her  brain.  The  rc- 
morse  was  so  sudden  and  keen  that  she  could 
scarcely  endure  it.  She  distinctly  beheld  a 
gaunt  shape  i)assing  among  her  guests  and 
gazing  reproachfully  at  her  out  of  Peggy's 
eyes.  '-If  I  am  spared  until  to-morrow,  I  will 
make  reparation,"  she  prayed.  Miss  Kaines 
touched  her  arm. 

"Do  not  forget  yourself,"  she  whispered, 
significantly. 

All  this  time  Captain  Lacer  was  ajiproadi- 
ing,  greeting  friends  right  and  left.  His  wife 
saluted  her  cousin  warndy  ;  then  Etiiel  and  the 
captain  clas])ed  bands,  and  exchanged  one 
swift  glance  of  mutual  curiosity.  The  meeting 
produced  comjdex  emotions  in  both.  He  was 
irritated  to  find  Ethel  in  her  present  position, 
yet  pleased  that  she  did  credit  to  his  own  good 
taste  in  being  able  to  gracefully  fill  it.  Ethel 
flushed  and  sparkled  with  gratified  pride  that  he 
did  not  find  her  thrust  aside  and  forgotten  for 
a  time,  then  waxed  a  trifle  abstracted.  Captain 
Lacer  had  so  wliolly  passed  out  of  her  life. 

"  You  have  resigned  your  position  in  the 
army,  then  ?  Have  you  no  dreams  of  glory  as 
a  hero?"  inquired  Etliel. 

"  I  have  no  dreams  of  any  kind,"  Ijc  rejilied, 
moodily. 

Ethel  trifled  with  tlie  buds  of  her  bouquet, 
and  smiled. 

"And  you  ?  Are  you  hapjiy  ?  Is  existence 
all  that  it  promised." 

Slie  raised  her  head,  and  calmly  returned 
his  gaze. 

"I  am  perfectly  hajiiJV,  tliank  you.  Ear 
more  so  than  I  deserve.  What  a  misanthrop- 
ical vein  for  a  ball,  Captain  Lacer  I"  with  a 
playful  change  of  tone. 

"You  deserve  every  blessing,"  he  retorted, 
bowing  low.  "  Only  tell  me,  as  an  old  friend, 
should  I  have  retained  my  post  ?  We  can  not 
live  but  once,  you  know." 

Ethel  thought  of  Nelson  and  Nicholas  on 
the  battle-fields,  and  the  last  fragment  of  re- 
gret crumbled  into  the  dust  of  prosaic  reality. 
Captain  Lacer  at  home  ! 

"Surely  you  are  the  best  judge,"  she  an- 
swered, coldly,  slightly  elevating  her  eyebrows. 

"I  am  rejoiced  to  have  found  you  again. 
The  deuce !" 

This  remarkable  change  of  tone  was  due  to 
Ethel's  sudden  flight  into  the  next  room.  Tlie 
wrinkle  deepened  in  Captain  Laeer's  forehead 
as  he  rejoined  his  wife. 

The  countess  was  permitting  Cousin  Jolin 


JOSEril  THE  JEW. 


123 


to  fan  her  in  a  seclmica  corner,  after  the  fa- 
tigue of  doing  her  duty  by  her  old  fricnd.s. 

"If  you  could  appreciate  the  relief  it  is  to 
chat  quietly  with  you,  John,"  she  said,  softly. 

J[r.  Kaincs's  jesting  response, was  never  ut- 
tered. 

"Take  nic  home.  Tray  take  nic  home," 
inii)lored  Ethel. 

"  Have  you  seen  a  ghost  ?  Your  eyes  are 
quite  bloodshot,"  said  the  countess,  gravely. 
She  had  far  too  much  tact  to  ridicule  her  cous- 
in's wife  just  then. 

Mr.  Kaines  was  touched  and  alarmed.  He 
tookjithel's  hand. 

"What  has  frightened  you  ?  Have  you  bad 
news  ?" 

"I  am  sure  I  must  go.  How  can  we  get 
there  ?" 

"To-night,  Ethel!  You  arc  mad.  It  is 
impossible.  To-morrow  we  can  go,  if  you 
like,"  said  Mr.  Raines. 

Ethel  sighed  with  relief,  but  still  clung  to 
liim.  She  could  not  have  done  better.  In 
her  right  mind,  pride  would  have  kept  her  at 
the  farthest  limit  of  the  room,  and,  like  most 
efforts  of  pride,  would  have  been  entirely  un- 
perceived  by  her  husband.  In  her  fear  she 
sought  him,  and  John-Raines  was  vain  of  this 
proof  of  confidence  in  his  young  wife.  The 
countess  sipped  her  Champagne,  and  ate  her 
salad  with  the  good  digestion  a  clear  con- 
science is  supposed  to  give.  Ethel,  seated  be- 
side her  child,  waited  for  the  dawn  with  sleep- 
less eyes. 

Next  morning  the  coupe'  drove  up  to  the 
door,  and  the  countess  appeared  dressed  in 
black,  with  a  heavy  lace  veil  over  her  face. 
She  was  equipped  for  an  early  drive ;  and, 
while  she  awaited  a  companion,  a  small  boy 
hurried  up  the  steps  with  an  ominous  yellow 
envelope.  The  countess  received  it,  signed 
the  book,  and  poised  the  envelope  between  her 
fingers,  while  these  thoughts  coursed  rapidly 
through  her  mind.  "  I  shall  not  read  it,  and 
am  therefore  ignorant  of  its  importance.  No 
one  has  seen  me  receive  it  except  the  coach- 
man. If  I  deliver  it,  all  will  be  over ;  if  not — " 
She  tore  the  envelope  into  bits,  and  showered 
it  into  a  tall  vase  just  as  Mr.  Raines  appeared. 

"I  hope  your  wife  does  not  object?" 

"I  shall  have  time  to  return  before  the  boat 
leaves,"  he  replied,  evasively.  Jlr.  Raines  was 
ruffled.  His  sister  had  flatly  rebelled  against 
the  course  of  events  ;  his  wife  had  been  a  spec- 


tator, but  one  with  resolute  look  and  clasped 
hands.  He  had  promised  to  take  his  cousin 
to  the  grave  of  her  parents. 

"She  does  it  to  show  her  power.  The 
coupe',  forsooth !" 

"Do  not  forget  that  you  are  a  lady,  my 
dear.     I  have  promised." 

But  ]\Iiss  Raines  found  it  exceedingly  dilli- 
cult  not  to  forget  that  she  was  a  lady  in  these 
days.  Could  she  not  sec  the  mischief  brew- 
ing ?  Could  she  preach  patience  to  Ethel  for- 
ever, and  hope  that  all  her  cherished  plans 
would  not  be  frustrated  ? 

"  Will  you  take  me  to-day  ?"  asked  Ethel, 
almost  humbly. 

"Without  fail,"  he  responded,  framing  the 
pale  face  caressingly  between  his  hands  a  mo- 
ment. 

lie  kept  his  word,  and  took  Countess  Ilor- 
tense  to  the  cemetery,  surely  on  a  melancholy 
errand  enough,  but  he  was  ill  at  ease.  Hes- 
ter had  never  been  so  unreasonable,  and  he 
dreaded  rudeness  to  their  guest.  At  three 
o'clock  nurse  stood  dandling  the  baby  at  the 
nursery  window.  The  carriage  had  not  re- 
turned. 

"It  will  be  too  late.  I  do  not  know  how  he 
could  be  so  unkind,"  burst  forth  Ethel,  tossing 
aside  her  hat. 

"I  will  go  with  you,"  said  Miss  Raines,  ear- 
nestly. 

"No;  wait!"  returned  Ethel,  with  sudden 
quiet. 

Miss  Raines  went  away,  nurse  was  dispatch- 
ed on  an  errand.  The  carriage  dashed  up,  and 
Mr.  Raines  assisted  his  cousin  to  alight.  The 
count  had  not  yet  arisen.  Miss  Raines  met 
them  in  the  hall. 

"Ilortense  got  lost  in  the  by-ways  of  the 
cemetery." 

"Yes,  we  were  actually  going  farther  away 
from  each  other  for  a  long  tiinc.  It  was  odd," 
explained  the  lady. 

"Very,"  assented  Jliss  Raines,  with  ])cculiar 
emphasis. 

"Am  I  too  late?  Where  is  Ethel?"  in- 
quired Ml-.  Raines,  with  real  concern. 

Nurse  was  seated  beside  the  empty  cradle 
wringing  her  hands  and  weejiing  vaguely,  after 
the  manner  of  her  class.  Ethel  and  the  child 
were  gone.  That  same  morning,  Richard 
Hearn  received  a  letter  from  his  brother,  con- 
taining this  astounding  information:  "Our 
debt  is  paid,  principal  and  interest." 


'^>^ 


CHAPTER  XXXYII. 


TOO   LATE. 


CLASPING  her  bnby  to  her  heart,  Etliel  felt 
ahnost  liappy  in  lier  freedom.  Last  night 
she  was  ricli,  surrounded  by  friends,  to-day  a 
fugitive.  Her  child  was  wholly  dependent  on 
her  to  fondle  and  dress.  Ethel  gained  a  new 
self-reliance  and  courage  from  tliis  dignity  of 
motherhood.  She  must  learn  to  think  and  act 
wisely  alone.  She  had  no  plan  for  the  future ; 
she  discarded  the  bare  thought  of  it.  She  was 
going  home  to  make  reparation  for  her  past 
neglect,  and  no  human  agency  should  delay 
her  longer. 

A  great  dread  opi)ressed  her,  yet  urged  her 
on.  It  was  sickening  fear  in  some  indefinable 
shape.  If  her  husband  would  not  accompany 
her,  she  must  go  unattended. 

Ethel's  anger  was  very  bitter  when  she 
thought  of  his  absence,  but  for  the  most  part 
her  resentment  was  ingulfed  in  another  anx- 
iety. For  the  time,  she  shut  out  her  present 
life  and  returned  to  her  girlhood.  She  had 
left  nothing  behind,  the  baby  was  her  own. 
The  countess  could  not  rob  her  of  that.  Thus 
Siie  retraced  her  steps,  memory  busy  with  ev- 
ery trifle,  over  the  pathway  she  had  hastened 
along  so  eagerly  a  year  before. 

Innocence  slept  on  her  bosom,  tenderly- 
guarded,  or,  waking,  gurgled  with  laughter 
from  rosy  li])s,  and  plucked  at  the  motlier's 
golden  tresses  with  daring  little  fingers. 

Press  on,  Ethel,  through  the  silent  night, 
your  impatience  urging  the  lagging  movements 
of  the  steamboat  to  rapid  progress.  Hasten 
along  the  l)cach,  the  sad  music  of  the  waves 
accompanying  your  footsteps,  familiar  Shell- 
port  .tfini,  and  giiostiy,  and  chill  in  the  early 
morning.  The  little  cottage  at  last  meets  her 
eager  gaze,  and  the  liev.  Hexham  "White,  with 
grave  demeanor,  is  coming  out  the  door.  Eth- 
el does  not  dare  to  question  him ;  the  land- 
scape is  reeling  around  her,  but  slie  enters  the 
house. 


Tiie  lower  story  is  deserted  ;  the  windows 
open  as  if  there  was  no  fear  of  intruders.  A 
large,  rough  dog,  of  sagacious  aspect,  is  sta- 
tioned at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  sniffs  nt 
Ethel,  keeping  a  doubtful  eye  on  her  move- 
ments afterward. 

Baby,  influenced  by  the  mother's  silent  ter- 
ror, perhaps,  gives  a  fretful  wail ;  Ethel  docs 
not  hear  it  as  she  ascends  the  stairway,  trem- 
bling in  every  limb.  Now  slie  approaches  the 
motlier's  chamber.  There  is  a  sound  of  suj)- 
pressed  weeping  within.  The  mother  lies  on 
her  bed  ;  an  old  man  with  snowy  hair  and 
beard  clasps  her  hand  ;  Nicholas  crouches  on 
the  ground  in  an  agony  of  grief,  burying  his 
head  in  the  coverlet ;  the  little  sister  stands 
where  the  last  recognition  of  the  dying  may 
reach  her ;  Peggy's  fingers  touch  the  silvered 
hair  of  her  mistress  with  a  groping  instinct  of 
afi'ection.  Ethel  pushes  aside  the  old  man — 
she  does  not  know  him — and  kneels. 

"Mother,  speak  to  me,  once  I" 

Does  the  failing  ear  catch  the  words  ?  I^o 
the  failing  eyes  behold  the  missing  daughter  ? 
Surely  there  is  a  quiver  of  remembrance,  a 
breath.      "At  last  I"  and  all  was  still. 

To  Ethel  her  mother  is  lost,  dropped  shud- 
deringly  into  an  abyss  of  the  unknown.  To 
Olive  that  mother  has  cast  the  shackles  of  a 
wearisome  life,  cramped  within  narrow  limits 
so  long,  and  gone  before  to  a  glorious  heaven. 
To  Ethel  the  poor  mother  she  has  wounded 
will  be  hidden  away  in  the  fearful  grave,  a 
mute  rciiroach  forever.  To  Olive  the  mother 
has  merely  laid  that  worn,  frayed  garment,  the 
body,  in  the  sheltering  earth,  and  risen,  on  an- 
gel's pinions,  to  the  presence  of  the  Redeemer. 

Niciiolas  Ilearn  has  lost  his  tender  comfort- 
er. And  tlie  old  man,  who  has  made  way  for 
passionate  Ethel,  gazes  at  her  and  at  the  child 
without  venturing  to  touch  either.  Thus  has 
Albert  Ilearn  returned  to  his  familv  after  manv 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


12- 


years,  and  his  youngest  daughter  does  not  rec- 
ognize Iiim. 

Outside  tlie  tide  is  ebbing  gently,  perhaps 
bearing  a  soul  out  to  tlic  golden  gates  of  day, 


and  a  gilded  arrow  of  the  rising  sun,  the  last 
of  a  life,  falls  on  the  marble  face  of  the  dead. 

"When  we  reach  the  shore  at  last, 
Who  will  couut  the  billows  past?" 


CHArTER  XXXVIII. 


COXFESSIOX. 


THE  child  was  asleep  in  the  cradle;  the 
two  women  conversed  in  a  low  tone.  If 
ever  they  resembled  one  another,  it  was  now. 
Both  wore  black  dresses ;  and  Ethel's  face, 
sharpened  by  the  illness  of  grief,  had  lost  some- 
thing of  its  rounded  bloom. 

Miss  Kaines  held  a  newspaper,  in  which  the 
Countess  Guaradini  was  described  at  a  court 
ball,  resplendent  in  amethyst  velvet.  The  name 
revived  the  memory  of  a  mystery. 

"Surely  sutticient  time  has  elapsed,  Hester, 
and  I  may  know,"  coaxed  Ethel,  with  unusual 
animation. 

"The  telegram  was  received  by  Ilortcnse," 
replied  the  elder  lady.  "  James  saw  her  take 
it,  and  tear  it  up  in  a  vase  afterward.  lie 
supposed  it  was  her  own.  I  traced  it  from 
the  office  while  you  were  absent,  and  found  the 
fragments  in  the  vase.  The  honor  of  the  tele- 
graph was  at  stake.  Methinks  our  own  family 
honor  was,  as  well.  One  must  make  compro- 
mises. The  boy  was  discharged  unjustly.  I 
have  taken  care  of  his  family  since.  I  pieced 
the  bits  of- paper  together  on  a  whole  sheet, 
like  the  mosaic  workers,  and  showed  them  to 
John.     That  is  all." 

"It  might  have  made  so  much  dit^erence," 
said  Ethel,  with  quivering  lips.  "I  do  not 
envy  the  countess." 

Best  not,  Ethel.  Who  is  worth  envying  in 
this  world  ?  She  went  down  stairs  to  her  hus- 
band's library,  and,  entering  the  I'oom,  found  it 
untenanted.  For  a  moment  she  hesitated,  then 
took  her  place  in  the  window,  dropping  the 
lace  curtain  behind  her,  to  await  his  return. 
The  flower-clock  grew  in  the  semi-darkness, 
with  alternate  closed  petals  and  brilliant  blos- 
soms expanded  to  welcome  night. 

Lessons  like  that  learned  by  Ethel  Ilcarn  at 
her  mother's  grave  leave  an  impress  on  after- 
years.  In  her  first  agony  of  remorse,  she  did 
not  believe  that  a  whole  lifetime  could  expiate 
Iier  sins  of  omission.      81ie  had  no  anger  to  ex- 


pend on  her  husband  when  he  came  to  her ; 
she  was  too  much  in  need  of  warm,  human 
sympathy.  He  was  very  tender  and  good  to 
her ;  yet  before  the  cloud  wholly  passed  away 
a  fresh  doubt  weighed  on  her  mind.  They 
were  bound  together  for  life.  Why  was  it 
more  culpable  in  John  Haines  not  to  have  un- 
veiled his  previous  life  than  for  Ethel,  his  wife, 
to  have  once  loved  Nelson  Thorne  ?  Yes, 
once  ;  for  those  elements  were  fading  from  her 
existence.  Ethel  had  the  gift,  blessed  in  one 
sense,  of  forgetfulness.  It  was  painful,  even 
humiliating ;  but  she  believed  it  was  her  duty  to 
tell  her  husband  all,  and  now  sought  him  for 
the  purpose.  In  entire  security  Mr.  Haines 
entered  the  library,  seated  himself,  and  beheld 
Ethel  emerge  from  the  window.  The  visit  of 
Countess  Hortense  had  been  productive  of 
good  ;  it  had  swept  away  the  last  remnant  of 
softened  regret  in  which  her  memory  had  been 
enshrined. 

Ethel  paused,  with  clasped  hands  and  droop- 
ing head,  a  moment,  then  advanced  swiftly  to 
his  side.      She  avoided  his  kiss  of  welcome, 

"Not  yet.  I  have  something  to  tell  yon 
which  you  should  have  known  sooner.  I — I 
could  not  bear  to  speak!" 

"A  milliner's  bill  of  unusual  length  ?  Oh,  I 
am  very  angry  in  advance,  deiiend  upon  it." 

"  Nothing  very  serious,  you  may  think,"  said 
Ethel,  laughing  nervously,  and  trifling  with  her 
rings.  "Do  you  remember  the  day  when  yon 
found  my  sister  on  the  beach  ?  No,  no  ;  let 
me  kneel  beside  your  chair  if  I  will.  It  is  my 
proper  place,  for  I  am  making  a  confession." 

"I  remember  it  very  well,"  replied  Mr. 
Raines,  uneasily.  "^ly  dear,  a  woman  should 
never  kneel  to  a  man." 

"Listen !  She  had  fainted  because  she  then 
discovered  that  her  lover.  Nelson  Thorne,  was 
unfaithful.  I  told  you  that  much  on  the  steam- 
boat, did  I  not?" 

"You  ccrtainlv  did." 


12G 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


'•I>iit  I  did  not  reveal  aU"  puvsucd  Ethel, 
ill  a  lower  tone,  hiding  her  face  against  the 
arm  of  the  chair.  "I  never  said  that  I  loved 
him  also." 

There  was  a  silence.  The  hlow  liad  fallen, 
and  John  Kaines  received  it  without  comment. 
No  matter  how  many  ideal  fancies  he  inijj;ht 
have  dicrished  since  hoyhood,  the  sliock  was 
severe  to  find  tliat  his  wife  had  ever  loved  an- 
other man.  What  she  slionld  be  amounted  to 
a  fastidious  delicacy  in  his  estimation.  lie 
was,  by  virtue  of  his  masculine  fibre,  the  rough 
ware,  capable  of  resisting  blows  ;  she  was  the 
fragile  vase  that  should  never  be  carried  to  the 
]>ublic  fountain.  His  was  the  strength  and  s.np 
of  the  brancli,  hers  tiie  delicate  bloom  of  tlie 
fruit. 

"Do  you  love  this  man  stiil?" 

"No;"  raising  her  face  to  look  at  liim. 

"Who,  t  hen?"  kccjjing  his  eyes  steadily  avert- 
ed. 


'•You." 

"When  did  I  succeed  him?"  witli  curling  lip. 

"A  long  time  ago,"  said  Ethel,  drearily, 
\viih  unconscious  patlios.  "John,  do  you  for- 
give me  ?" 

"Yes  ;"  reluctatitly,  and  after  a  jianse. 

"Will you  try  to  forget  what  I  have  said  to- 
night ?" 

"That  is  not  expected  of  me,"  said  I.Ir. 
Raines,  harshly. 

"I  suppose  this  is  to  be  my  punishment," 
said  Ethel,  rising.  A  moment  before  she  was 
a  penitent  cliild  ;  now  she  was  a  dignified 
woman. 

The  husband  made  no  cfibrt  to  detain  her. 
She  sought  a  small  dressing-room  sacred  to 
herself,  and  locked  the  door.  On  tlie  wall  was 
a  picture  of  Christ  crowned  with  thorns,  the 
splendor  of  immortality  in  the  far-seeing  gaze. 
IJelow  the  picture  was  a  wreath  of  immortelles 
fresh  from  the  mother's  tomb. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


A   XE"\V    YEAK. 


"QTAND  back,  little  man!     It  may  prove 

O  au  infernal  machine,"  said  Miss  Raines, 
holding  np  a  package  which  had  evidently  ex- 
cited her  curiosity. 

She  addressed  her  nephew,  who  had  toddled 
forward  to  receive  a  gift  when  his  name  was 
mentioned,  and  stood  regarding  her  with  that 
irresolute  expression  on  the  little  face  which 
foreboded  tears  or  smiles. 

"  Wait  until  mamma  opens  it,"  advised  Eth- 
el, re-assuringly. 

The  parcel  was  addressed  to  Francis  Raines, 
and,  with  some  wonder,  Ethel  proceeded  to 
reveal  the  contents.  A  letter,  and  the  sum  of 
five  thousand  dollars.     She  read  : 

"  I  devoted  the  first-fruits  of  my  earnings  to 
my  nephew,  Francis  Raines,  in  payment  of  a 
debt  contracted  long  ago.  When  I  was  a  poor 
lad,  and  desired  to  go  to  college,  I  applied  to 
his  father,  then  in  Europe,  and  he  responded 
most  generously  to  my  appeal.  lie  knew 
nothing  of  my  claims  to  his  consideration,  yet 
extended  the  helping  hand  which  was  to  mold 
my  whole  career.  God  bless  him  for  it !  lie 
has  twice  refused  to  receive  the  sum  then  ex- 
pended, but  I  feel  convinced  that  he  will  not 
reject  it  in  this  form,  as  it  will  render  me  a 
free  man,  besides  possessing  to  me  the  value 
of  having  been  self-earned.  My  uncle,  Jared 
Ilearn,  was  benefited,  by  a  suggestion  of  mine, 
in  the  economy  of  labor,  and  has,  most  unex- 
j)ectedly,  transmitted  to  me  this  amount  as  my 
share.  If  my  nephew  ever  needs  a  friend  in 
early  youth,  may  he  find  such  a  one  as  I  did  in 
liisfatiier!  Nicholas  IIkaun." 

Ethel  folded  the  letter  meclianically.  Ilcr 
husband  had  sent  Nicholas  to  college.  Incred- 
ible fact,  of  which  she  had  never  dreamed. 
Ilow  good  he  had  been  to  them  ! 


The  little  man  turned  away  to  his  iday,  dis- 
appointed that  the  gift  did  not  prove  a  hobby- 
horse, and  all  day  his  mother  pondered  on  the 
matter. 

Husband  and  wife  were  estranged,  and  Eth- 
el almost  repented  of  her  frankness  in  making 
the  confession.  This  circumstance  of  Nelson 
Thorne  had  not  the  importance  in  the  wife's 
eyes  which  it  possessed  to  the  husband.  It 
was  all  of  the  past. 

Young  Mrs.  Raines  became,  in  the  estima- 
tion of  society,  very  religious.  Wherever  she 
went,  she  was  haunted  by  the  remembrance  of 
a  wrong.  Often,  in  the  quiet  night,  she  seem- 
ed to  see  the  moonlight  falling  on  her  mother's 
grave,  until  the  picture  dissolved  in  tears. 
Miss  Raines  never  alluded  to  the  jjvoud  reserve 
maintained  between  them. 

With  the  reception  of  her  brother's  present, 
it  smote  on  Ethel's  heart  that  it  was  the  close 
of  the  year.  What  was  the  future  to  be? 
Life  was  brief  at  the  best.  Foolish  to  spend 
it  quarreling.  Ah  !  the  beck  is  only  a  step 
across  at  first,  but  it  widens  as  it  reaches  the 
sea.  A  whole  year  of  cold  restraint  had 
elapsed.  "What  if  one  or  the  other  had  died? 
Was  the  Countess  Guaradini  responsible  for 
all?  Ilow  vividly  she  stood  before  Ethel,  in 
her  mauve  draperies,  as  on  the  night  of  the 
ball — a  time  which  was  the  beginning  of  evil 
that  had  strengthened  into  a  stern  barrier 
since ! 

Softer  influences  stole  over  her  unawares ; 
she  could  not  have  fortified  her  better  nature 
against  them  if  she  would.  She  must  make 
one  more  eflfort  at  reconciliation  before  yield- 
ing to  this  tacit  separation  as  inevitable.  Eth- 
el went  slowly  to- the  library  door,  and  paused. 
It  is  very  hard  to  break  down  the  obstacle  af- 
ter long  silence,  and  say  you  are  sorry. 

"Come  in."     The  master's  voice  was  dis- 


128 


JOSEPH  TIIK  JEW. 


couragiiig.  How  coiilJ  she  do  it  ?  Ethel  turn- 
ed and  glided  away.  Mr.  Raines  opened  the 
door  and  closed  it  again,  witli  miuiicd  cmi)ha- 
sis  and  a  discontented  sigh,  altlioiigh  this  last 
was  inaudiltic  outside. 

Etiiel  sougiit  licr  ciuuiiher,  laid  her  head  on 
lier  arms,  and  wejjt  juissionatcly.  AViiat  a 
wretched  waste  her  life  was !  And  she  so  ricli- 
ly  deserved  it  all.  ^Vllen  her  son  grew  to  man- 
liood,  he  would  treat  her  just  as  she  had  be- 
haved to  her  own  mother.  Measure  for  meas- 
ure. Even  in  the  abandon  of  despair  her  brain 
was  busy  with  expedients.  Suddenly  she  dried 
her  tears  and  went  to  a  wardrobe. 

Julin  Raines  sat  at  his  desk  writing.  He, 
too,  had  been  thinking  gloomily  of  the  dawn- 
ing year,  and  of  ids  disajipointment,  for  he  was 
grievously  disappointed  in  his  wife.  Tiien  tlic 
cliild — tlie  son  who  was  to  succeed  liim  and 
keep  his  name  a  little  longer  on  the  earth — 
wliat  glorious  dreams  he  had  indulged  in  con- 
cerning the  boy !  A  ehild  can  do  much,  but 
can  he  bridge  an  ever-widening  gulf  between 
parents  ?  "J/tVa  que  ates,  que  desates,"  he  said, 
regretfully. 

A  ligiit  step  caused  liim  to  turn.  There 
stood  a  girl  in  a  i)lain  gown,  cloak,  and  hat, 
with  veil  thrown  back,  holding  a  little  travel- 
ing-bag. It  was  Ethel  Hearn  of  tlie  steamboat, 
when  he  had  rescued  and  protected  her.  It 
was  the  girl  who  had  wandered  through  the 
city  when  mob  rule  prevailed,  and  kept  up  her 
courage  to' the  last.  It  was  the  wife  who  had 
sung  to  him  in  the  twilight,  the  mother  of  his 
child.  After  all,  what  had  she  done  ?  Loved 
her  sister's  lover,  and  run  away  from  tempta- 
tion. 

E'hcl,  standing  before  him  as  Queen  Esther 
did  in  the  presence  of  Ahasucrus,  saw  him 
smile. 

"Have  you  come  to  visit  me  in  masquer- 
ade ?     Wclcoiue." 

"Am  I  welcome?" 

"Assuredly.     I  am  writing — " 

"  So  I  perceive.  Do  not  allow  me  to  inter- 
rupt;" proudly,  and  on  the  verge  of  freezing 
again. 

"It  is  a  jileasant  interruption.  Tell  me 
why  you  assumed  the  dress,  and  I  will  read 
you  what  I  have  written." 

"I  wear  it  because  I  think  we  both  need  it 
as  a  reminder,"  said  Eihcl,  half  timidly. 

Mr.  Raines  adjusted  his  papers,  and  played 
with  his  pen  a  moment,  before  rej)lying  : 

"  Good.  I  have  written  with  the  same  mo- 
tive. Will  you  oblige  me  by  listening?  Pray 
remove  your  hat ;  it  may  require  a  long  time." 


Instead  of  resuming  his  arm-chair,  he  seated 
liimself  on  a  sofa,  thus  seriously  endangering 
his  eye-sight,  and  motioned  Ethel  to  a  jjlace 
beside  him.  She  obeyed  demurely,  while  he 
read  aloud  : 

"In  a  Devon.sliire  lane,  as  I  trotted  alonR 
T'other  day,  much  in  want  otii  subjuct  for  90ii<.', 
Tliinks  I  to  myself,  I  liave  hit  on  a  strain- 
Sure  marriage  is  much  like  a  Devonshire  lane  ! 

"  lu  the  first  place,  'tis  long ;  and  when  once  you  are 

in  it, 
It  holds  you  as  fast  a?  the  cage  holds  the  linnet; 
For  liowe'er  rough  and  dirty  the  road  may  be  fonud, 
Drive  forward  you  must,  since  there's  uo  turning 

round. 

"  But  though  'tis  so  long,  it  is  not  very  wide, 
For  two  are  the  most  that  together  can  ride  ; 
And  even  there  'tis  a  chance  but  they  get  in  a  poth- 
er, 
And  jostle  and  cross,  and  run  foul  of  each  other. 

"Oft  Poverty  greets  them  with  mendicant  looks, 
And  Care  pushes  by  them,  o'erladeu  with  crooks, 
And  Strife's  grating  wheels  try  between  them  to 

pass, 
Or  Stubbornness  blocks  up  the  way  on  her  ass." 

Here  Mr.  Raines's  disengaged  hand  strayed 
over  the  boundary  of  his  wife's  gown,  without 
his  raising  his  eyes  from  the  paper.  Ethel 
dimpled,  looked  at  the  hand  askance,  then  slid 
her  own,  warm  and  clinging,  within  that  sliel- 
tering  clas]). 

"But  thinks  I  too,  these  banks  within  which  we  arc 
pent, 
With  bud,  blossom,  and  berry,  are  richly  besprent : 
And  the  conjugal  fence  which  forbids  us  to  roam, 
Looks  lovely  when  decked  with  the  comforts  of 
home. 

"In  the  rock's  gloomy  crevice  the  bright  holly  grows, 
The  ivy  waves  fresh  o'er  the  withering  rose, 
And  the  ever-green  love  of  a  virtuous  wife 
Smooths  the  roughness  of  care,  cheers  the  winter 
of  life." 

A  pretty  face,  merry  once  more,  interposed 
between  reader  and  page,  and,  finding  in  that 
a  good  excuse,  Jolin  Raines  clasped  her  in  his 
arms.  The  ardor  of  love  dwelt  in  the  soft  thrill 
of  kisses  showered  on  cheek  and  brow,  linger- 
ing in  the  sweet  union  of  lips.  Strong,  pure 
love  at  last !    Ethel's  first  coherent  words  were  : 

"You  have  been  dreadfully  ugly;  you  can 
have  no  idea  how  disagreeable  you  have  made 
yourself." 

."  So  have  you,"  he  replied,  his  fingers  wan- 
dering caressingly  over  the  waving  hair. 

"  I  ?■'  laughed  E:hcl.  "I  have  been  a  mar- 
tyr." 

But  suddenly  her  mood  changed ;  her  eyes 
dimmed  ;  she  hid  her  fiice  on  her  husband's 
shoulder  in  convulsive  weeping ;  for  the  cliimes 
of  a  neighboring  church  rang  out  on  tlie  frosty 
air  their  peals  of  airy  music.     The  bells  sang 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


129 


with  their  silvery  voices,  of  the  happiness  com- 
ing, yet  they  also  had  a  sad  minor  strain  of  the 
past,  which  was  gone,  and  never  could  be  re- 
called. Mr.  Raines  thought,  as  he  tenderly 
soothed  her,  that  he  had  been  a  brute  to  nurse 
his  own  wrath  so  long,  and  repulse  her  in  her 
affliction.  She  would  have  been  a  million 
times  better  off  had  she  lived  witli  Hester 
alone  instead  of  marrying  him. 

Then  they  opened  the  window,  and  stood 
listening  to  the  chimes.  Far  above  glittered 
the  other  worlds,  remote,  vast,  inaccessible  ; 
below  lay  the  city,  hushed  to  the  quiet  of 
midnight. 

"  How  we  play  with  destiny,  and  fill  up  our 
life  measure  with  petty  spites  and  evils  !    Some- 


times all  these  works  of  ours,  seemingly  so 
durable,  may  vanish  beneath  the  waves,  and 
these  very  bells  we  hear  ring  faintly  to  those 
in  the  upper  world,  even  as  Iduna  murmurs  in 
fathomless  dci)tlis.  Let  us  look  a  little  higher, 
my  love,"  said  John  Raines. 

The  past  rolled  away  like  a  scroll,  and  the 
night  ushered  in  an  undivided  future. 

Tiie  metal,  silvery  bright,  which  dances  and 
floats  on  the  water  surface,  a  tiny  globe,  and 
the  imponderable  vapor  seek  each  other  through 
all  nature  ;  embrace,  and  their  individuality 
perishes  in  the  formation  of  a  crystal.  May 
not  two  souls  blend,  and,  never  tlie  same  again, 
form,  in  union,  the  crystallization  of  a  better 
life' 


CHAPTER  XL. 


A    SHIP    COMES    IN. 


A  RUDDY  glow  is  shed  through  tlie  little 
house  from  the  crackling  logs  on  the 
hearth. 

Albert  Hcarn  is  asleep  in  his  arm-chair,  and 
the  light  flickers  over  his  worn  face.  The  lit- 
tle sister  is  seated  opposite,  with  hands  clasped 
on  her  knee,  gazing  at  the  fire  and  thinking. 
On  the  rug  lies  a  dog  of  venerable  aspect,  with 
gray  hair  growing  on  his  face,  and  a  care-worn 
expression.  The  dog  appears  to  be  indulging 
in  reflection,  as  well  as  his  mistress.  One  can 
not  but  wonder  if  his  reverie  leads  him  down 
to  the  south  where  the  old  Indian  dwelt,  and 
the  probability  of  an  alligator  having  got  her 
by  this  time. 

The  little  sister  is  thinking,  with  a  heart- 
ache, of  the  silent  chamber  up  stairs,  where 
she  never  finds  occupation  now,  but  she  reso- 
lutely checks  the  falling  tears  as  she  looks  at 
the  sleeping  fiice  opposite.  Her  father  is  the 
charge  intrusted  to  her  by  the  dying  mother, 
and  sorely  needs  tender  care. 

Albert  Hearn  is  a  man  wounded  in  the  bat- 
tle ;  he  has  come  home  too  late  to  atone  for 
the  sin  of  his  youth.  The  death  of  his  wife 
has  left  him  without  courage.  The  longing 
of  weary  years  is  indeed  at  last  realized.  He 
has  returned  to  his  family  ;  the  debt  of  his  dis- 
grace is  paid.  But  Albert  Ilearn  shrinks  from 
contact  with  his  former  world,  as  the  restored 
blind  avoid  the  dazzling  noonday.  •  He  does 
not  wish  to  see  his  brothers  ;  he  has  never  visit- 
9 


ed  the  scene  of  his  former  life.  He  can  not 
be  induced  to  leave  the  little  house,  except  to 
wander  listlessly  on  the  strand  or  visit  his 
wife's  grave.  He  believes  in  the  fatality  of  his 
career's  being  a  total  failure,  and  does  not 
strive  to  rally.  As  the  youth  of  Albert  Ilearn 
yielded  to  the  stress  of  a  great  temptation,  so 
his  maturity  lacks  fortitude  in  endurance. 
"What  is  he  to  do  ?  The  tree  rudely  uprooted, 
and  tying  prone  on  the  ground  for  a  season, 
can  not  regain  its  hold  in  the  soil  with  the 
elasticity  of  a  slender  sapling.  He  studies  his 
children  with  interest  and  affection,  yet  can 
never  forget  that  he  was  no  assistance  to  their 
growing  years — even  returns  at  last  a  stranger. 
He  has  many  secret  projects  for  the  happiness 
of  his  eldest  daughter  of  which  she  is  ignorant. 
Ethel  is  the  pride  of  his  heart,  even  as  she  was 
in  the  days  of  ringlets  and  pink  boots,  before 
trouble  came.  Ethel  is  very  attentive  to  her 
father  ;  surrounds  him  with  many  luxuries,  the 
fruit  of  constant  thoughtfulness.  She  has  all 
the  more  anxiety  to  be  filial  in  her  respect,  from 
the  fiict  that  his  first  arrival  was  kept  a  secret 
from  her,  lest  Mrs.  Raines  might  consider  him 
a  disgrace.  Albert  Hearn  is  always  delighted 
to  see  her,  welcomes  her  husband  courteously, 
but  never  has  or  will  visit  her  home  in  return. 
Ethel  may  come  to  him,  but  he  may  never  cross 
her  threshold.  He  takes  refuge  in  any  com- 
monplace excuse  of  being  a  nervous  old  man, 
not  fond  of  societv,  and  Ethel  must  be  satis- 


130 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


fied,  "Let  her  take  ber  own  stand  without 
me,"  he  reflects. 

Nicliohis  Ileain  also  dwells  at  Sliellport,  and 
treats  his  father  with  careful  tenderness;  still 
his  train  of  thought  frequently  hcwilders  the 
parent.  The  patent  adjustable  lock  has  proved 
a  success  in  a  small  way.  The  invention  is  not 
exalted,  but  satisfactory,  on  the  principle  of 
making  a  better  pin-head,  a  more  perfect  but- 
ton, than  the  rest  of  mankind.  ^Nicholas  has  a 
large,  rambling  loft,  full  of  heterogeneous  ma- 
terials, half  workshop,  half  laboratory,  where 
he  delves  early  and  late.  It  is  doubtful  if  he 
will  ever  be  a  rich  man,  for  he  converts  ready 
money  into  the  solution  of  fresli  problems,  and 
looks  ever  to  the  future. 

Nicholas  has  not  married ;  the  most  skillful 
match-maker  would  find  in  him  a  dry  subject. 
"  The  idea !  .With  my  brain  so  full  of  things," 
he  says,  contemptuously,  if  the  subject  is 
broached.  "  We  have"  paid  our  debts,  and  let 
us  begin  the  world.  Then  a  shade  of  sadness 
steals  over  the  rugged  face:  "I  wish  mother 
could  have  lived  to  sec  my  lock  accepted,  and 
known  something  of  mj'  project  for  utilizing 
the  sun's  rays. " 

Perhaps  the  best  friend  Nicholas  finds,  in 
these  days,  is  Mr.  John  Kaincs,  who  likes 
nothing  better  than  to  spend  hours  in  the  dusty 
work-room,  making  suggestions,  discussing  dis- 
coveries. Nicholas  never  visits  the  great  house 
either ;  he  has  no  time,  he  says  decisively. 
The  little  sister  has  not  that  faith  in  her  erratic 
brother  which  he  actually  deserves.  lie  has 
always  seemed  so  out  of  place  in  her  small  life. 

A  blooming  young  woman,  much  interested 
in  tlie  condition  of  her  back  hair,  reigns  in  the 
kitchen.  Where  is  Peggy  ?  A  year  before 
Olive  found  the  old  woman,  in  the  act  of  leav- 
ing her  room  to  perform  her  daily  duties,  stif- 
fened into  the  rigidity  of  paralysis.  Chained 
in  every  limb,  dumb,  motionless,  Peggy  fixed 
her  eyes  on  the  girl  with  a  passionate  entreaty. 
All  day  Olive  tried  to  fathom  the  look.  She 
brought  her  father  and  Nicholas ;  the  look 
never  swerved  from  herself.  She  tried  food, 
drink,  reading  in  the  worn  Bible — even  held 
up  the  dearest  companion  and  solace  of  a  life- 
time, the  snuff-box.  '^The  living  eyes  in  the 
frozen  face  gathered  anger  rather  than  relief. 
Olive  was  haunted  by  the  expression.  Peggy 
dumb,  and  striving  to  utter  a  word.  Finally 
siie  approached  the  bed.  "  Yon  wish  me  to  do 
something.  Close  your  eyes  if  I  guess  aright." 
Even  at  that  grave  moment,  so  oddly  do  inop- 
portune ideas  flash  into  our  minds,  Olive  could 
not  help  thinking  of  the  game  of  twenty  ques- 


tions, and  the  inquiry,  "Is  it  animal,  mineral, 
or  vegetable  ?"  Peggy  evidently  waited,  with 
intense  eagerness,  for  her  first  suggestion. 

"  Is  it  about  me  ?"  The  eyelids  quivered 
assent. 

"To  be  done  for  you  ?" 

"Yes." 

"About  your  illness?" 

"Yes."  ' 

"The  doctor?     A  medicine?" 

"No." 

"  Give  you  something  in  this  house?" 

"Yes;"  the  eyes  brightening  hopefully. 

^^  Iw  this  room  ?" 

"Yes,  yes!" 

"  Your  own  property?" 

"Yes." 

Olive  made  a  tour  of  the  room,  touching 
each  article  of  furniture,  and  looking  at  Peggy 
interrogatively.  When  she  reached  a  chest  of 
drawers,  the  eyelids  signified  that  she  was  to 
open  the  upper  one.  Inside  was  a  box,  which 
Olive  brought  to  the  bedside.  The  box  con- 
tained a  small  business  card,  with  the  name  of 
"L.  Andrews,  attorney-at-law,  Concord,  New 
Hampshire." 

"Am  I  to  keep  this?" 

"Yes." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"No." 

"Send  for  this  man?  Very  well.  You 
must  rest  iiow." 

And  Pegg}',  listening  to  the  grand  words  of 
Job,  "I  know  that  my  Kedeemer  liveth,"  read 
from  the  worn  Bible,  sank  into  the  long  rest 
which  knows  no  waking. 

Afterward  L.  Andrews,  attorney-at-law,  pre- 
sented himself  to  Olive  Ilcarn,  in  reply  to  her 
letter.  Tiie  prime  little  man  was  in  possession 
of  Peggy's  will,  made  several  years  before,  in 
which  she  left  the  house  beyond  the  beach  to 
her  dear  girl,  Olive,  forever.  The  much-ma- 
ligned brother  had  bequeathed  her  the  money, 
and  she  had  purchased  the  home  which  shel- 
tered tlie  Ilearn  fiimily  so  long.  This  truth 
was  never  known  until  the  faithful  nurse  had 
gone  to  her  reward. 

Olive  reflects  on  these  events,  sitting  by 
the  fire,  with  her  father  calmly  sleeping  oppo- 
site, and  the  dog  of  large  experience  between. 
She  is  happy  in  her  life,  capable  of  a  full, 
roiimled  womanhood,  without  the  sharp  angu- 
larity of  peculiarities  or  the  restless  aims  of 
ambition.  Where  is  Nelson  Thorne,  in  all  the 
wide  universe  ?  She  forgave  him  long  ago, 
and  she  has  become  used  to  thinking  Ethel 
more  contented,  married  as  she  is.     Ethel  en- 


JOSEPH  THE  JEW. 


131 


joys  much,  in  her  present  condition,  which 
might  not  have  been  her  portion  as  Nelson's 
wife.  Where  is  he  wandering  at  the  close  of 
this  year?  She  thinks,  with  a  thrill  of  alarm, 
that  he  may  be  dead,  and  she  would  never 
know.  Or  he  may  have  home,  wife,  and  chil- 
dren. 

Tiie  night  without  is  black  and  cold.  Ici- 
cles fringe  the  eaves,  and  suspend  diamonds  on 
every  pendent  twig  of  the  shrubbery.  Snow 
mantles  the  earth,  and  yields  reluctantly  to  the 
dark  waves,  which,  moaning  of  tempests  abroad, 
toss  their  spray  high  on  the  shore  in  congealed 
masses. 

The  little  sister's  ship,  through  storm  and 
darkness,  is  coming  into  port.  Tiie  fairy  craft 
is  fashioned  of  pearl  and  gold  ;  gossamer  sails 
are  spread,  and  reflect  rainbow  hues  of  joy ; 
the  sullen  waters  are  furrowed  into  a  spark- 
ling track  of  light  by  the  slender  prow  ;  a  tiny 
god  holds  the  helm. 

Hark !  The  keel  grates  on  the  strand. 
There  are  footsteps  on  the  beach  at  the  gate. 
She  rises  to  her  feet,  swayed  by  some  powerful 
impulse  ;  the  door-bell  rings  on  her  startled, 
expectant  senses ;  the  room  circles  around. 


Albert  Ilearn  opens  his  eyes  in  glad  sur- 
prise ;  the  dog  is  wagging  his  tail  amicably; 
and  penitent,  humbled  Nelson,  stands  on  the 
hearth,  with  Olive's  hand  clasped  firmly  in  his 
own.  Even  while  he  returns  the  father's  cor- 
dial greeting,  he  searches  the  daughter's  serene 
eyes  for  his  answer.  She  knows  what  he  has 
come  to  ask  long  before  he  finds  an  opportuni- 
ty to  speak.  The  years  have  brouglit  trouble, 
sorrow,  repentance — above  all,  need  of  iier. 

To  the  little  sister  the  gift  has  been  so  long 
coming,  had  seemed  a  moment  before  so  hope- 
less of  fulfillment,  that  she  turns  it  on  Ijer 
palm,  wondering  if  it  be  worth  the  pain,  the 
tears,  the  golden  expectation.  Purified  and 
ennobled,  the  first  love  of  Nelson  Thorne  is 
well  worth  acceptance.  The  boon  is  very 
sweet  to  the  little  sister.  Experience  Thome's 
prayer  is  answered. 

Ouhlier,  c'est  le  grand  secret  des  natures  fortes. 

The  rajah's  chain,  dismantled  of  jewels,  lies 
in  the  case,  having  interwoven  the  lives  of  the 
descendants,  even  as  it  had  originally  linked 
together  those  of  the  grandparents.  The  dia- 
mond-brokers might  never  know,  but  Joseph 
the  Jew  has  fulfilled  his  allotted  task. 


NOVEMBER    BOOK-LIST. 


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Pike's  Siib-Tropicai  Rcimblcs  and  Life  in  the  Mnurilins. 

Sub-Tropical  Rambles  in  the  Land  of  the  Aphanapteryx.  By  Nicolas  Pike,  U.  S.  Consul, 
Port  Louis,  Mauritius.  Profusely  Illustrated  from  the  Author's  own  Sketches ;  containing 
also  Maps  and  valuable  Meteorological  Charts.    Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  $3  50. 

His  book  shows  a  width  and  comprehensiveness  of 
scope,  with  an  amount  of  pains  in  collecting  details, 
which  must  entitle  the  author  to  much  praise.  He 
has  brought  to  his  task  a  miud  keenly  alive  to  the 
aspects  both  of  nature  and  of  human  life,  and  he  has 
lost  no  opportunity  either  of  observiug  the  facts  with- 
in his  range,  or  of  suggesting  judicious  and  thought- 
ful reflections  concerning  them.  To  the  tastes  of  a 
student  of  science  he  adds  the  practical  sense  of  a 
man  of  business  and  the  shrewdness  of  a  citizen  of 
the  world.  To  a  scieutitic  eye  nowhere  is  the  book 
of  nature  more  widely  open  than  in  this  "gem  of  the 
ocean,"  as  for  beauty,  variety,  and  physical  wealth 
the  Isle  of  France  has  been  called.  Its  rich  vegeta- 
tion, its  waterfalls,  its  natural  caverns,  its  wild  forest 
lands  open  inexhaustible  sources  of  pleasure  and 
admiration.  Its  coasts,  its  rivers,  and  its  inland 
scenery  afford  the  zoologist  never-ending  stores  for 
collection  and  study. — Saturday  Review,  London. 
A  book  to  delight  the  naturalist. — Graphic,  London. 


*  *  *  Rarely  have  we  met  with  a  book  of  travels 
more  enjoyable,  and  few  have  been  written  by  a 
sharper  or  closer  observer.  To  recapitulate  a  tithe 
of  the  heads  of  the  information  he  provides  would 
exhaust  the  limits  of  the  longest  paragraph,  aud  we 
must  content  ourselves  with  saying  that  he  has  left 
very  little  indeed  to  be  gleaned  by  his  successors  in 
the  task  of  briuging  to  the  mind  what  a  wealth  of 
beauty  aud  novelty  there  is  to  be  fouud  on  the  island 
of  Jlauritius. — Standard,  London. 

Whether  on  land  or  water.  Col.  Pike  is  an  indefati- 
gable collector,  and  an  observant  and  enthusiastic 
naturalist.  His  accounts  of  his  marine  excursions 
over  the  extensive  coral  reefs  which  encircle  the  island 
fill  some  of  the  most  pleasant  pages  in  the  volume ;  a 
better  description  of  tropical  submarine  beauties  and 
rarities  has  seldom,  if  ever,  been  given.  •  •  •  The  pict- 
uresque scenes  of  tropical  life  and  vegetation,  which 
our  author  seems  never  tired  of  painting  in  glowing 
language. — Athenceum,  London. 

Plnnier's  Pastoral  Tlicology. 


Hints  and  Helps  in  Pastoral  Theology.     By  William  S.  Plu.mer,  D.D.,  LL.D.     i2mo, 
Cloth,  $2  00. 


Sara  Coleriike's  Memoirs  and  Letters. 


Memoirs  and  Letters  of  Sara  Coleridge.    Edited  by  her  Daughter.    With  Portraits.    Crown 
8vo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 


This  charming  work  is  attractive  in  two  ways: 
first,  as  a  memorial  of  a  most  amiable  woman  of  high 
intellectual  mark,  and,  secondly,  as  rekindling  recol- 
lections, and  adding  a  little  to  our  information  regard- 
ing the  life  of  Sara  Coleridge's  father,  the  poet  and 
philosopher,  whose  intellect  was  a  wonder,  whose  life 
has  almost  a  romantic  interest,  and  whose  character, 
with  its  portion  of  human  weakness  and  error,  is  in- 
teresting and  lovable  even  in  its  frailties  and  its  faults. 
Sara  Coleridge's  Memoirs  and  Letters  carry  us  back  to 
the  friends  and  scenes  so  familiar  to  the  admirers  of 
Coleridge — to  Bristol,  Nether  Stowey,  Keswick— to 
Wordsworth  and  Southey,  Charles  Lamb,  the  benev- 


olent bookseller,  Cottle,  the  kind  friends,  Poole,  and 
Wedgwood,  all  chronicled  in  that  strange  and  charm- 
ing hook,  the  "Biographia  Literaria;"  and  they  give 
us  also  a  pleasant  insight  into  later  days,  reaching  to 
the  poet's  death,  while  he  was  the  inmate  of  the  Gill- 
mans'  house  at  Ilighgate.  •  •  •  We  can  hardly  con- 
ceive an  intelligent  reader  for  whom  the  work  will 
not  have  a  charm,  as  telling  genuinely  aud  natu- 
rally the  life,  the  daily  thoughts,  and  hopes,  and  occu- 
pations of  a  noble  woman  of  a  high  order  of  mind,  and 
as  mirroring  a  pure  heart.  Her  letter-writing  is  thor- 
oughly unaffected ;  there  is  never  straining  for  effect. 
A  thenceum,  London. 


Harper  &*  Brothers'  List  of  New  Books. 


Tristram's  Laud  of  Moab. 


The  Land  of  Moab:  The  Result  of  Travels  and  Discoveries  on  the  East  Side  of  the  Dead  Sea 
and  the  Jordan.  Ly  II.  U.Tristr.vm,  M.A.,  LL.D.,  F.K.S.,  Hon.  Canon  of  Durham.  \Vith  a 
a  Chapter  on  the  Persian  Palace  of  Mashita,  by  Jas.  Ferguson,  F.R.S.  With  Map  and 
Illustrations.     Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

written  aud  well  illustrated,  the  narrative  sustains 
its  interest  throuirhout,  and  gives  a  vivid  picture 
of  the  present  condition  of  the  couutry.— jlW(«)jocujn, 
Louduu. 


Dr.  Trijitram's  accDUut  of  his  visit  to  tlic  Laud  of 
Moab  will  be  welcomed  by  all  who  have  lon},'ed  to 
know  Koiuethiii;,'  more  of  a  country  po  iniimatcly  coii- 
ueclcd  with  ilic  history  of  the  Ibiaclites.    rieusaully 


Miss  Doroliiy's  Cliargc. 


Miss  Dorothy's  Charge.    A  Novel.    By  Frank  Lee  Benedict,  Author  of  "  My  Daughter 
Elinor,"  "  Miss  Van  Kortland,"  &c.,  &c.    8vo,  Paper,  $1  00 ;  Cloth,  $1  50. 
In  "Miss  Dorothy's  Charge"  we  have  again  a  vig- 
orous novel  from  an  American  hand.    There  can  be 
no  doubt  of  the  superiority  of  Aineiican  writens  over 


the  great  aud  increasing  mass  of  our  own  fairly  suc- 
cessful novelists,  both  in  skill  as  to  thv  manipulation 
of  plots  and  insight  in  the  delineation  of  character. 
The  present  story  is  a  success  in  both  respects.  We 
may  declare  our  uin-escivcd  appreciation  of  the  more 
important  features  of  the  book. — jli/ie/utuiu, Loudon. 

Dawson's  Earth  and  Man. 


•  •  •  But  "  Miss  Dorothy's  Charge  "  has  far  more  and 
higher  claims  upon  our  attention.  In  the  first  place, 
the  plot  is  ingenious  and  well  worked  out;  secondly, 
there  are  no  dummies  among  the  actors  ;  aud,  thirdly, 
the  whole  book  abounds  in  lively,  natural,  and  amus- 
ing dialogue.  •  •  *  The  brightness,  freshness,  grace, 
and  good  feeling  of  the  whole  story.  *  *  *  The  atmos- 
phere is  pure  and  healthy  from  first  to  last.— Stowdarcf, 
London. 


The  Story  of  the  Earth  and  Man.  By  J.  W.  Dawson,  LL.D.,  F.R.S.,  F.G.S.,  Principal  and 
Vice-Chancellor  of  McGill  University,  Montreal.  \Vith  Twenty  Illustrations.  i2mo.  Cloth. 
%l  50. 


A  book  of  rare  excellence.  An  account  of  the  geo- 
logical history  and  the  past  life  of  the  earth,  full  yet 
concise,  accurate  yet  pictorial,  and  almost  poetic.  We 


most  heartily  commend  to  our  readers  a  book  so  full 
of  interest,  so  radiant  with  truth.— ZJn'd'sft  Quarterli/ 

Review. 


Wilkie  Collins's  Novels :  Library  Edition. 

Harper's  Illustrated  Library  Edition  of  Wilkie  Collins's  Novels.     With  Portrait  on  Steel. 
l2mo.  Cloth,  $1  50  per  volume.     The  volumes  to  be  issued  monthly. 

Armadale. — Basil. — Hide-and-Seek. — Man  and  Wife. — No  Name. — Poor  Miss  Finch. 
— The  Dead  Secret. — The  Moonstone. — The  New  Magdalen. — The  Woman  in  White. 


The  Two  Widows. 


The  Two  Widows.  A  Novel.  By  Annie  Thomas,  Author  of  "Denis  Donne,"  "Called 
to  Account,"  "Played  Out,"  "A  Passion  in  Tatters,"  "The  Dower  House,"  "Maud  Mo- 
han," &c.    8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

Holme's  Light  at  Evening  Time. 

Light  at  Evening  Time  :  a  Book  of  Support  and  Comfort  for  the  Aged.  Edited  by  John 
Stanford  Holme,  D.D.  Elegantly  printed  from  large  type  on  toned  paper.  New  Edi- 
tion, with  Additional  Matter  and  Si.\  Steel-Plate  Portraits.     4to,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

topics  as  these:  The  Trials  of  Old  Age  ;  The  Tempta- 
tions of  Old  Age  ;  The  Duties  of  Old  Age  ;  The  Con- 
solations of  Old  Age,  &c.,  &c.  It  should  be  a  large 
book  with  little  matter  in  it.   Why  has  no  tract  society 


The  late  Dr.  J.  W.  Alexander,  in  his  "  Forty  Years' 
Letters,"  says :  "  A  book  ought  to  be  written  with  tliis 
title:  'The  Aged  Christian's  Book,'  printed  in  large 
type  for  the  convenience  of  old  persons.  It  should  be 
in  the  largest  character  attainable— treating  of  such 


thought  of  such  a  thing?'' 


Prime's  I  Go  A-Fisiiini!:. 


I  Go  A-Fishing.     By  W.  C.  Prime.     Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 


A  treat  to  every  contemplative  fi.shcrman.  •  *  *  He 
calls  it  "I  Go  a-Fishing."  The  tender  charm  of  the 
book,  its  sober  eloquence,  and  its  genial  breadth,  re- 
mind one  very  much  of  the  style  of  Jeremy  Taylor.  *  *  * 
A  rare  love  of  nature,  and  a  simple-hearted  adoration 
of  the  god  of  nature,  and  an  intense  devotion  to  the 
finny  denizene  of  the  deep,  especially  of  pools  in  trout- 


streams.  •  •  •  Its  subdued  humor,  power,  its  fondness 
for  that  which  is  good,  and  honest,  and  natural,  its 
Christianity,  without  the  specialties  of  sectarianism, 
should  recommend  it  to  every  one  who  likes  to  cast  a 
fly  in  a  likely  pool.  *  *  *  Mr.  Piime  ought  to  be  able 
to  rely  on  a  hearty  reception  of  this  book  among  his 
English  cousins.— Stondard,  London. 


Harper  &>  Brothers^  List  of  New  Books. 


Flaiuiimrions  Atmosphere. 

The  Atmosphere.  Translated  from  the  French  of  Camille  Flammarion.  Edited  by 
James  Glaisher,  F.R.S.,  Superintendent  of  the  Magnetical  and  Mcterological  Department: 
of  the  Royal  Observatory  at  Greenwich.  With  lo  Chromo-Lithographs,  and  86  Woodcuts, 
8vo,  Cloth,  $6  oo. 


The  style  is  very  simple  and  comprehensive;  there 
is  an  eutiie  absence  of  puzzling  technicalities,  and 
every  thing  necessary  to  be  told  is  told  iu  such  a 
charming  manner  that  even  the  most  iudiflurcnt 
reader  will  liud  his  interest  excited,  and  his  atten- 
tion chained.  We  know  of  no  other  work  on  a  .simi- 
lar subject  which  covers  so  wide  a  field.  M.  Flam- 
marion apparently  entered  npon  his  task  with  an 
enthusiasm  which  shows  no  sign  of  fhiggiug  from  the 
beginning  to  the  end  of  the  work.  We  do  not  know 
when  we  have  found  instruction  and  amusement  more 
pleasingly  combined  than  they  are  in  this  book, 
which  is  destined  to  enjoy  a  popularity  second  to 
none  of  the  many  works  that  have  lately  been  issued 
with  the  laudable  intention  of  popularizing  science. 
The  chapter  on  storms  is  particularly  interesting,  as 
is  also  that  on  meteors,  while  the  concluding  book, 
which  treats  of  electrical  phenomena,  is  absorbingly 
entertaining.  While  the  style  is  in  no  wise  lacking 
iu  dignity,  it  is  distinguished  by  a  pleasing  familiar- 
ity and  chattiness  that  at  once  wins  the  reader's  con- 
fidence and  attention.  The  book  is  profusely  and 
finely  illustrated.  There  are  ten  chromo-lithographs, 
which  are  beautifully  executed,  and  of  which  several 
are  really  fine  works  of  art.  There  are,  in  addition, 
eighty-six  woodcuts  of  more  than  ordinary  excellence. 
As  a  whole,  it  is  one  of  the  handsomest  and  most 
valuable  publications  of  the  year.— Costo/i  Sat.  Evcn- 
ning  Gazette. 

We  doubt  whether  a  volume  treating  of  scientific 
subjects  could  be  made  more  attractive.  It  is  even 
superior  to  Reclus's  "The  Earth,"  and  Eeclus's 
"Ocean,"  published  by  the  same  house.  Yet  it  is 
not  more  expensive,  and  really  is  a  marvel  of  cheap- 
ness. No  pains,  no  expense,  no  excellence  known  to 
the  engraving  and  printing  art,  have  been  spared  in 
getting  up  this  interesting  and  valuable  work.  To  a 
cultivated  mind  no  work  of  fiction  can  equal  this  ex- 
tended and  varied  treatise  on  the  atmosphere.  To 
the  inquiring  mind  thirsting  for  knowledge  no  sub- 
ject can  surpass  the  wonderful  and  exciting  phenom- 
ena connected  with  the  earth-surrounding  and  all- 
penetrating  air  we  breathe. — The  Episcopalian. 

This  work  is  very  comprehensive,  treating  of  the 
form,  dimensions,  and  movements  of  the  earth,  and 
of  the  influence  exerted  on  meteorology  by  the  phys- 
ical conformation  of  the  globe  ;  of  the  figure,  height, 
weight,  color,  and  chemical  components  of  the  at- 
mosphere; of  the  phenomena  of  light,  heal,  wind, 
clouds,  rain,  electricity;  of  the  laws  of  climate,  and, 
in  short,  of  the  wide  range  of  subjects  included  under 
the  general  topic.  It  is  very  pleasing  in  style,  and  is 
profusely  illustrated,  ten  full-page  chromo-lithographs 
picturing  the  more  remarkable  phenomena  mention- 
ed.— Boston  Post. 


This  is  truly  a  superb  volume,  both  externally  and 
internally.  As  a  piece  of  book-making  it  marks  the 
high  degree  of  perfection  to  which  the  art  is  carried 
in  the  manufactories  of  the  publishers.  The  literary 
side  of  the  work  is  creditable  alike  to  the  French 
author  and  the  English  editor,  who  here  bring  their 
several  national  traits  into  a  happily  combined  co- 
operation. During  several  years  past  the  French  have 
been  giving  to  the  public  a  variety  of  thoroughly 
scholarly  treatises  on  the  various  departments  of 
general  physics,  which  combine  very  successfully  the 
exactness  of  science  with  all  the  ease  and  ready 
understandableness  of  the  most  popular  story-tell- 
ing. And  these  works  have  been  very  successfully 
turned  into  English,  and  reproduced  iu  all  their  orig- 
inal freslmess.  In  this  scries  "The  Atmosphere" 
may  claim  an  houorable  place. — Christian  Advocate, 
N.Y. 

It  is  a  superb  volume,  containing  ten  chromo-litho- 
graphs, which  are  real  works  of  art.  The  frontis- 
tispiece  is  a  representation  of  the  "halo,"  to  be  seen 
iu  the  Arctic  regions,  a  series  of  rainbow  circles 
around  the  sun.  Another  of  the  pictures  is  that 
of  a  lunar  rainbow  seeu  at  Compeigne,  which  is 
very  beautiful,  as  fine  as  the  best  water-color  painting 
one  is  almost  tempted  to  say.  The  next  chromo  is  a 
sunrise  from  the  Righi  in  Switzerland,  with  the  in- 
imitable tints  so  delicately  given  that  one  regrets  that 
the  picture  is  destined  to  be  shut  up  in  a  book.  There 
is  also  a  winter  landscape  and  a  storm,  which  deserve 
all  the  praise  we  can  give  them.  If  we  turn  to  the 
woodcuts  we  find  equal  chance  to  commend  the 
French  writer's  taste,  who  gives  such  a  delightful 
treatment  to  a  topic  that  might  easily  have  been  made 
as  dry  "as  the  remainder  biscuit  after  a  sea  voyage." 
We  have  a  book  which  is  at  once  "  lively  and  severe," 
and  we  most  cordially  recommend  it  to  the  attention 
of  our  readers. — Pittsburgh  Chronicle. 

It  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  superbly  executed 
volumes  that  has  been  issued  from  the  American 
press  for  a  long  time.  The  work  is  profusely  illus- 
trated, the  woodcuts  being  elaborate  and  artistic 
performances,  and  the  chromo-lithographs,  of  which 
there  are  ten,  being  beautiful  representations  of  phe- 
nomena which  could  not  be  properly  illustrated 
without  the  aid  of  color.  The  printing  and  the  bind- 
ing are  in  keeping  with  the  engravings  and  with  the 
high  charrxter  of  the  book  itself.  "The  Atmosphere" 
is  probably,  therefore,  the  most  complete,  as  it  cer- 
tainly is  the  most  readable,  book  on  the  subject  of 
which  it  treats  iu  existence.  A  very  great  interest  is 
felt  at  the  present  time  in  the  science  of  metereology, 
and  the  appearance  of  "The  Atmosphere"  is,  there- 
fore, most  opportune,  and  we  doubt  not  that  it  will 
be  eagerly  read  by  thousands.— I>ai7»/  Telegraph,  Phila. 


Nast's  Illustrated  Almanac  for  1874. 

W^ith  86  Original  Illustrations  by  Thomas  Nast.     Price  25  cents. 

Life  of  Alfred  Cookman. 

The  Life  of  the  Rev.  Alfred  Cookman.     By  H.  B.  Ridgaway,  D.D 
Steel.     i2mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

To  thousands  who  remember  the  eloquent  father 
and  sou,  whose  honored  names  are  jierpetuated  to- 
gether in  this  biography,  it  will  be  as  "the  savor  of 
good  ointment  poured  forth."  We  saw  much  of  that 
saintly.  Christian  life  and  work  which  Dr.  Ridgaway 


With  Portrait  on 


has  so  finely  delineated  in  this  handsome  book.  He 
was  a  thorough  Methodist,  but  not  less  was  he  of  the 
City  of  GoU.— Christian  Intelligencer,  N.  Y. 

A  biography  like  this  has  the  force  of  a  thousand 
Bcrmocs. — N.  Y.  Times. 


Harper  6-  Brothers'  List  of  New  Books. 


Hcrvey's  Christian  Rhetoric. 


A  S'-stcm  of  Christian  Rhetoric,  for  the  Use  of  Treachers  and  Other  Spcu..ers.  By  George 
VV  FRED  IIervev,  M.A.,  Author  of"  Rhetoric  of  Conversation,"  "Principles  of  Courtesy," 
c>.       8vo,  Cloth,  ?3  50. 


From  preachers,  authors,  and  critics  of  dilTerent  de- 
nominations, establiiibcd  character,  and  large  experi- 
ence, favorable  opinions  of  this  work-  Lave  bccu  re- 
ceived, as  the  following  extracts  will  show: 

A  professor  of  Ilomiletics  for  flve-and-twenty  years 
says,  "  This  is  an  original  and  very  elaborate  work. 
I  am  acquainted  with  no  book  in  which  eearching 
analysis,  clear  and  vigorous  thinking,  solid  and  ex- 
tensive learning,  and  scientific  method  are  more  thor- 
oughly applied  to  the  elucidation  of  the  principles  of 
preaching." 

From  an  eminent  historian,  preacher,  and  critic  we 
learn  that  "It  is  one  of  the  most  comprehensive  and 
best  grounded  treatises  on  the  subject.  The  views  of 
inspiration  and  of  inspired  preachers,  as  models,  are 
exceedingly  important  and  ably  presented.  I  am 
more  than  content  with  the  style." 

A  leading  preacher,  historian,  and  scholar  testifies 
that  "  In  its  presentation  of  the  pre.ncher's  work,  as 
having  the  Holy  Spirit  for  its  great  reli.mce  and  the 
holy  prophets  for  its  great  patterns,  the  work  deserves 
close  regard.  Its  array  of  authorities.  Classic,  Patris- 
tic, Mediajval,  Puritan,  Romanist,  German,  French, 
Scottish,  English,  and  American,  would  enable  any 
student  who  followed  the  clue  supplied  by  its  foot- 
notes to  pursue  many  of  the  problems  that  it  discusses 
into  a  most  extended  field." 

Charles  Reade's  A  Simpleton. 

A  Simpleton  :  A  Story  of  the  Day.     By  Cl 
Yourself  in  His  Place,"  "Never  too  Late  to 

Animated,  vigorous,  and  interesting.  It  is  the 
best  novel  that  he  has  given  to  the  world  since 
"Griffith  Gaunt,"  and  it  amply  demonstrates  the  fact 
that  Mr.  Reade  has  lost  none  of  the  peculiar  power 
and  picturesqueness  of  style  which  made  his  earlier 
writings  so  acceptable.  Alwaj-s  admirable  in  his  de- 
scriptive passages,  Mr.  Reade  has,  by  skillfully  shift- 
ing about  the  scene  of  his  story,  aflforded  himself  am- 
p'e  opportunities  to  exercise  his  peculiar  talent  in  this 
line.  His  description  of  the  South  African  diamond 
fields  in  "The  Simpleton"  will  rank  with  that  of  the 
Australian  gold  diggings  in  "  Never  Too  Late  To 
Mend,"  in  the  vividness  with  which  the  actual  scene 
is  reproduced,  and  this  is  as  high  praise  as  it  is  pos- 
sible to  bestow  upon  it. — Phila.  Evening  Telegraph. 

The  story  is  one  of  the  most  rapid  and  animated 
action  in  parts,  and  has  plenty  of  its  writer's  peculiar 
humor  in  other  portions. — Boston  Satttrda'j  Evening 
Gazette. 

"A  Simpleton  "  is  as  good  as  any  thing  the  author 
has  produced.  It  presents  many  phases  of  life,  from 
that  of  a  London  physician  and  his  class  to  that  of 
men  engaged  in  opening  up  Southern  Africa  through 
diamond-digging  and  its  adjuncts;  and  all  this  is 
done  with  a  strength  and  a  vivacity  that  show  that  Mr. 
Reade  is  at  the  noon  of  his  mind.  There  is  much  va- 
riety of  character  in  the  story,  and  each  person  is 
brought  well  out  on  the  stage  of  life.  They  are  men 
and  women  of  the  age.  The  Simpleton  herself  Is  a 
very  charming  person,  and  one  is  very  partial  to  her. 
—Boston  Traveller. 

Miss  Beccher's  Housekeeper  and  Healthkeeper. 

Miss  Beecher's  Housekeeper  and  Healthkeeper:   Containing  Five  Hundred  Recipes  for 
Economical  and  Healthful  Cooking ;  also,  many  Directions  for  securing  Health  and  Happi- 
ness.    Approved  Uy  Physicians  of  all  Classes.     Illustrations.     i2mo.  Cloth,  $1  50. 
It  is  thoroughly  practical  and  he]\tt\i].— Boston  Jour- 1      Full  of  useful  hints  to  housekeepers.— X  Y.  Indc- 
nal.  I  feculent. 


A  distinguished  critic  and  author  says,  "The  work 
has  not  at  all  the  air  of  a  theological  treatise.  The 
style  is  free  and  racy,  abounding  in  apt  and  piquant 
illustrations  from  liistory  and  common  life.  *  *  *  The 
work  has  many  prolltable  suggestions  for  public 
speakers  in  every  branch  of  eloquence.  It  is  eminent- 
ly readable  and  often  entertaining.  It  Is  original  in 
its  conceptions  and  full  of  novelties  in  its  treatment. 
It  may  truly  be  regarded  as  an  extraordinary  work." 

Au  eloquent  and  learned  preacher  is  of  the  opinion 
that  "The  work  is  remarkably  comprehensive  and 
complete.  While  others  have  discussed  different 
branches  of  the  subject  and  produced  noble  frag- 
ments, Mr.  Hervey  is  the  lirst,  so  far  as  I  know,  to  re- 
duce Ilomiletics  to  an  adequate  system,  treating  all 
parts  of  sacied  rhetoric  in  their  j)roi)er  order  and  nat- 
ural relations.  As  he  makes  inspiration  a  basis  of 
the  work,  it  suggests  the  proj)riely  of  a  similar  recon- 
struction of  our  standards  of  secular  i  hetoric.  •  •  • 
Though  drawing  his  materials  from  all  the  best 
sources,  ancient  and  modern,  he  has  wisely  avoided 
all  temporary  and  sectarian  side-issues,  and  produced 
a  safe  and  serviceable  text-book  for  ail  Protestant 
seminaries.  The  treatise  is  popular  In  style,  and  con- 
tains much  either  to  instruct  or  entertain  all  public 
speakers,  especially  such  as  would  keep  pace  with  tlie 
times  and  the  progress  of  Christian  intelligence." 


t.\RLES  Reade,  Author  of  "Hard  Cash,"."  Put 
Mend,"  &c.  8vo,  Paper,  50  cents;  Cloth,  $1  00. 
There  are  no  novels  in  the  English  language  which 
are  more  distinctively  wholesome  than  the  novels  of 
Charles  Reade.  There  is  an  earnest  humanitarianism 
in  his  works  which  puts  to  shame  the  artificial  senti- 
mentalism  of  Dickens.  The  generous,  indignant 
sympathy  with  which  he  defends  the  oppressed  work- 
man, the  defenceless  lunatic,  or  the  helpless  prisoner, 
is  powerful  for  good,  because  it  is  felt  to  be  genuine 
and  not  assumed  as  a  trick  to  win  a  transient  popu- 
larity. There  is  not  a  single  novel  bearing  his  name 
which  does  not  show  the  same  steady  loyalty  to  what- 
ever is  true  and  good,  and  the  same  hearty  hatred  for 
whatever  is  nie.m  and  base.  His  readers  are  brought 
at  once  into  an  atmosphere  that  is  pure,  bracing,  and 
wholesome.  Charles  Reade  has  never  yet  palliatei 
crime,  or  asked  our  sympathy  with  vice.  *  •  *  As  an 
artist  as  well  as  a  moralist,  Mr.  Reade  ought  to  accept 
this  hostilty  as  a  compliment.  It  is  a  proof  that  hid 
creations  are  recognized  as  genuine  men  and  women, 
so  palpably  living  that  they  can  provoke  the  anger  of 
narrow-minded  conventionalism.  Especially  is  this 
true  of  his  women.  The  whole  range  of  English  fic- 
tion contains  no  heroines  that  can  be  compared  with 
the  heroines  of  Reade's  novels.  They  are  not  merely 
a  collection  of  beautiful  portraits,  but  they  are  women 
so  real  that  we  can  see  the  blood  mantling  in  their 
beautiful  cheeks,  and  feel  the  subtle'perfume  loosened 
by  the  breeze  that  stirs  their  luxuriant  hair.  Some 
day  in  Charles  Reade's  works  will  be  universally  re- 
cognized the  art  of  France  and  the  sturdy  soul  of 
English  htmesty. — X.  V.  Graj^hic. 


^yj^iZ^r:. 


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